You and Your White Horse
by a.fictional.love
Summary: Sara Price knew better than to step through the door in her sister's shower and enter the world of Pride and Prejudice. She knew better than to get in over her head. She did anyway, and now has to handle Her meddling Ladyship, a multitude of Collins brothers, and unexpected and unwanted feelings for a certain militia man. Wickham X OC
1. The Shower Dilemma

**first multi-chapter fic - let me know what you think! And yes, I'm aware that Amanda does not have a sister in the series. creative license.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lost in Austen or any of the characters. If I did, I wouldn't be here. I only own Sara**

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1. The Shower Dilemma

"Amanda!" I called, letting myself into her flat by the spare key under the fire extinguisher. I had continuously told her to move it, because I was fairly certain that everyone in the whole building was aware of its location. "It's been ten days. I know you said you were going to be out of town for work, but let's face it - you hate work." I closed the door behind me. "Mum's been going mental because every time she tries to call you, it says the number is out of service, so you might want to get that fixed."

The flat was pretty much just as it had always been, the bright yellow foyer leading into the kitchen. I opened her fridge, looking for one of the bottles of water she usually kept on the top shelf. Instead, I encountered a repulsive smell that made me gag and cringe away from the appliance. Holding my breath, I searched around and pulled out a half empty carton of milk, almost two weeks expired and revoltingly sour.

I feared the worst - moping and ignoring personal hygiene. "I know you just broke up with Michael, so if you're doing one of those sad and alone things where you eat chocolates all day and watch sappy romances and wait for your bum to get big, consider me your intervention." I tossed the carton in the garbage and continued to the living room where the big, obnoxious red sofa sat. True, it went with the rest of the red and dark brown colors of the room, but it was a bit bold for my taste. "I have four days off work, which I was actually saving up to use for a long weekend somewhere nice, but I have the pleasure of spending them with you. We'll take all the time we need."

I stopped between the kitchen and the living room, looking down the hallway to her empty bedroom, where the bed was neatly made. In all the time I could remember, Amanda had never made her bed willingly. "Are you here?" I asked, my former certainty diminishing. I had purposely come at eight in the morning on a Saturday, ruining my own slumber, to catch her early. If she wasn't on a work trip - which she wasn't because she sat at a bloody desk all day long - and she didn't work on Saturdays - which she didn't - she should be here.

I heard a noise, coming from the bathroom, that sounded like a muffled yell. My feet took me down the hall, and a young woman with a pixie cut appeared in the doorway. My mouth parted and my eyebrows knit together. This was most definitely not Amanda.

"My apologies," she said, her voice so heavily accented that even I noticed. "I was just cleaning up."

My mouth opened and closed a few times. "And you are?" I managed to say when I found my voice.

"I'm Elizabeth Bennet," she answered politely, making a little curtsy motion that looked completely out of place, as it was the twenty-first century and she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"Right," I said, eyeing her suspiciously. "And I'm Cleopatra."

The woman suddenly adopted a confused expression, tilting her head to the side and furrowing her eyebrows, as if she was actually considering my sarcastic comment to be true. "You do not look like the pictures I have seen. Cleopatra is deeply tanned, and she had black hair, did she not? Your skin is much paler, and your hair is golden. Is it simply a common name nowadays?"

A thousand sarcastic comments could have come tumbling out of my mouth had I let them, but I stifled them instead; I didn't need her taking another one seriously, because that could go on for hours. What I needed was to know why this delusional woman, claiming to be a fictional character, was cleaning my sister's bathroom. "No," I said, saving the trouble. Her face cleared and she waited for me to elaborate on my identity. "I'm Sara, Amanda's sister."

"A pleasure," she said, curtsying again. Then she added, "I can see the resemblance now."

"Yeah," I agreed, hoping we were coming to the conclusion of the pleasantries. I looked around her into the bathroom. She followed my gaze, eyebrows raised in innocent curiosity. "Where's my sister?"

"She's in my world."

"Your world," I repeated doubtfully, but she nodded as if I had asked if it was sunny outside. "And that means, what, exactly?" I asked, attempting to scrape together some logic while collecting all the totally illogical details being thrown at me.

She turned and retreated into the bathroom, pulling the string to turn on the light.

"Oh, this is extraordinary!" she said before I had steeled my nerves to walk into the room. When I did, there was an open door in the wall of my sister's shower. Extraordinary just so happened to _not_ be the first word that came to my mind. She looked to me, beaming. "I was just going to show you its location, but it appears to have opened for you."

I blinked. "For me?" She nodded emphatically. "Are you sure it's not for you?"

Again, she nodded. "Yes, quite sure, indeed." To prove her point, she approached the door, which then slammed itself shut. "Your sister and I switched places, you may say. She is better suited to my world, and I to yours." She backed up towards me, and the door reopened on its own accord. "It is most interesting," she added, "that it has opened for you as well. Do you share your sister's affection for the novel?"

"I was never as obsessed with it as Amanda, but, yeah, I liked it," I replied, too busy comprehending that a portal to a fictional world was in my sister's bathroom to put up my sarcastic defenses. Then they returned. "Wait. You know you're part of a book?"

"Yes, your sister explained it to me well when she returned once."

I seized this flicker of hope. "Will she come back again?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I assume she plans on staying there."

My flicker puttered out and I mumbled, "Oh, this is going to be fun to explain to Mum."

She put a hand on my shoulder. "You seem distressed."

"Well, yes, that's because I am," I said, resisting the desire to call her Sherlock. Did fictional characters know each other? "You see, she left and probably won't be back, but she neglected to tell anyone."

"That's why I'm here," she said proudly, eyes bright. "I'm to tell anyone that needs to know where she is, though I highly doubt that door will open for any of them."

I stared at the door, determined not to take a step closer. "I understand that, but I meant work. Amanda has a job. What is she doing for money in...your world?"

Elizabeth laughed aloud, utterly amused. "Money? Your sister has no financial worries, considering whom she married."

"Whom she what?" I demanded, losing my calmness, if it had been there in the first place. Finally, she seemed to take my 'distress' seriously.

"She wed, quite recently. To Mr. Darcy." I felt my jaw go slack. "They're currently on honeymoon, I believe."

"On honeymoon?" I started by saying. I wasn't sure if I had said the words correctly; they were too foreign and just sounded wrong. I continued my clarification that was only, I was sure, going to further confuse me. "My sister and Mr. Darcy are on honeymoon. My sister and Mr. Darcy are married."

She nodded like it was a well known fact. Yeah, well known to everyone but me. Why wasn't I invited? Amidst my bewilderment and wonder if I needed psycho-evaluation, I was genuinely hurt that I hadn't been included in my sister's wedding, even if it was in another "world". We'd always talked about getting married, back when we liked to act out weddings with our dolls.

Elizabeth started speaking again. "That was why the door opened for her, I believe."

"You think she was meant to marry Mr. Darcy, so the universe plunked her into fantasy land?" I couldn't help it as the sarcasm spilled into my voice. She nodded honestly anyway. "Of course it did," I muttered under my breath, still eyeing the door.

Apparently, she hadn't heard me. "Your sister truly loves Mr. Darcy, and now he shares the same feelings for her. I saw them together." I was happy for Amanda, really, but still ticked off that she'd run off with a fictional character without at least giving me a phone call. I stiffened, realizing that I should probably check myself into the nearest asylum when I woke from this dream. "And she tried to put me and Mr. Darcy together," Elizabeth continued, "but it was just not meant to be, despite the plot of the novel."

"You're settling here while Amanda gets Mr. Darcy?" I asked. "Is that fair?"

"Mr. Darcy and I are not suited for one another, not as he and your sister are. Besides, if the door allowed us to trade our places, it must have been meant to be. For a long time, it refused to let her back here. There was something she'd needed to accomplish."

Unfortunately, that was starting to make sense to me. "And why is it open for me?"

"You have business to attend to in my world," she replied simply. "I suggest you enter. Perhaps you will find your sister." I weighed the proposal in my mind. "It leads to my house," she added.

I took a step towards the door, but at the same time said, "How can I just abandon work?"

"Your sister quit her job," Elizabeth offered.

I shook my head. "You don't understand. I'm a paramedic."

"Oh," she said, realization dawning. "That does seem very important. But you are not dressed. Surely you do not attend your work in that."

She gestured to my blue skinny jeans, brown, knee-high riding boots, and dark green tank top. "No," I admitted, "this is not my uniform -"

"Then it's your day off work?"

"Yes, but-"

"Oh, Sara, you must go!"

I stepped away from her and held up my hand, meaning for her to stop talking. "Hang on." I turned and strode out of the bathroom, down the hallway, past the living room - grabbing my jacket that I'd tossed on the red couch - through the kitchen, into the foyer, and out the door, closing it shut.

I leaned back against the wall for support, my eyes closed. I had never been forced to do this before, but I pinched my arm with my index finger and thumb, my nails digging into the skin. When I finally struck a nerve and blinked back tears, I had deep, red marks that were almost at the point of drawing blood. I let out a breath of air.

Satisfied, I re-entered the flat and made my way to the bathroom -

- where Elizabeth Bennet still stood, looking at me curiously. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Now what was I supposed to do? My eyes fixed, once more, for some unexplainable reason, on the open door. "Fine," I lied, taking a step towards it. "I just needed to grab my jacket."

She saw my intentions as I stepped into the shower. The door still hadn't closed, and she beamed. "Oh, Sara, you will have a most wonderful time, I guarantee it!"

"Yay," I mumbled, not even halfheartedly. Once more, she was ignorant of my true meaning. Still, I stepped from everything I knew into the world of a book I had read twice. I turned around, wondering if this had been a good idea, when I saw the door close behind me. "No, wait!" I whimpered as it shut. I jiggled and twisted the knob, pushing and pulling with all my might, and only discovered that it wouldn't budge.

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**A/N: YAY! First chapter of my first story - submitted story, that is. I have a few others (check out my profile) but I decided through the intricate process of eeny-meeny-miney-mo to start posting this one first. **

******Reviews are much appreciated!**


	2. First Encounter

**A big THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to the first reviewer!**

**Disclaimer: Though it is distressing, depressing, disheartening, dismal, and doleful, I do not own Lost in Austen or any of the characters. I only own Sara, and the right to alliteration.**

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2. First Encounter

I banged on the wood, calling only as loudly as I dared, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth, open the door!" I turned my head around every few seconds to check down the hallway, making sure no one was there. I was overcome with terror, realizing that there was no way for me to get back to Amanda's flat and that my only option was to continue into Elizabeth's house.

I tip-toed down the hallway, making as little noise as possible. I passed by a room, where someone slept in a bed, her back to me, oblivious to my existence. As I hurried past that door and the next two, I counted a total of four figures - Elizabeth's sisters - all asleep, all motionless except for light breathing. I was shocked that they didn't hear my heart thundering in my chest.

I took the stairs as quickly as I could, keeping to the outside of the wood to prevent unwanted creaking. On the landing, I froze; behind me, there was movement. I turned, petrified, but saw a woman whose back was to me. I took a split second to take in the white bonnet and apron over her peasant style dress before making a mad dash to the door and outside.

My feet immediately came in contact with a dirt walkway. I was in a nicely tended garden surrounded by white fencing, which I probably would have admired had I not been trying to get away from it as quickly as I possibly could. I tore out of the area and towards the edge of the property, my heart sinking upon seeing the gate closed. I grabbed the iron bars with my hands, pulling and pushing to no avail: there was a lock, and I didn't have a key.

Beyond thankful that no one was awake, I began to climb. The lack of footholds on the vertical bars made it difficult work. My boots slipped as I basically attempted to run up them. It took very careful weight placement, but somehow I managed to pull myself up to the top and over. The slight rust on the bars prevented me from sliding down the eight feet or so, because getting tetanus would completely ruin my little adventure.

When my feet were on solid ground, I took a moment to walk slowly and catch my breath, relieved that I had gotten out alive - until I heard a mix of scraping and clomping noises. I turned to my right, where two black horses were pulling a carriage of the same color.

"Oh, give me a break," I grumbled, not having yet caught my breath. It was still a long way off, but there was something sticking out of the window. A head, I saw, wearing a large, odd looking hat. And I swear, whoever it was was staring right at me.

I took off again, across the dirt road and into the grass, staying on the side opposite of the window the person was looking out. The uphill slope was killing my thighs, but I finally made it to the crest of the hill and leaned against a large oak tree. The house and carriage were both out of my sight now.

" 'You'll have the most wonderful time,' " I mimicked Elizabeth's parting words. "Yeah, right." I'd been dumped into her house; why couldn't Elizabeth have introduced me, or given me a note to show that I wasn't some murderer? Was this really what Amanda had gone through?

No. Amanda would have rejoiced. Awkward though she could be, my sister had always been the friendly one while I tended to only speak when spoken to if faced with a situation like this one.

And what kind of situation was this? I was in the middle of nowhere near the Bennet house, Longbourne. I wasn't even in the nineteenth century. This wasn't time travel. I was in a book. A piece of fiction. Fiction, as in not real. This was not real.

I breathed slowly, trying to organize my scattered thoughts. This was insane, and it was making _me_ insane. "Okay, Sara, relax." What were the possibilities? "Just because you pinched yourself earlier doesn't mean it isn't a dream. If this is a dream, then you're fine and you just have to wake up."

A idea came to me, something about dying in a dream meaning that you die in real life. I pushed that thought back into the corner of my mind.

"It's not real," I reminded myself. "Something else is going on."

A trick. That could be it. Amanda was playing a prank on me. The disconnected cellphone was probably a set up answering machine. The woman in the apartment claiming to be Elizabeth must have been a friend of Amanda's I had never met. And the door in the shower...

How could I possibly explain that? My sister's shower opened up and I walked through it to a fictional Georgian England. I hung my head, so utterly confused and, honestly, scared. Though it was hopeless and desperate, I decided to stick with the unlikely option that this was a prank...which I could positively rule out. I moaned.

"That was quite a sigh."

I jumped and spun towards the voice, my eyes wide. Standing on the hill with me was a man with dark hair and medium length sideburns. He wore knee high black boots, white pants that were not as pristine as they had once been, and the red jacket of a militia man, its collar and cuffs colored gold. There was a crimson sash around his waist, but I didn't know what rank that symbolized. On his head sat that funny hat that looked a lot like a hill sloping down towards the front and back. This was the man who had seen me from the carriage window.

"My apologies for frightening you," he said, bowing his head. The corners of his mouth were turned up in the slightest smirk and his eyes glinted with mischief when I saw his face again.

I put up what part of my guard I could muster, not liking that look. "That's okay."

Suddenly, he cocked his head to the side and his eyebrows knit together. His face had changed dramatically, but I didn't like this look either. I unconsciously took a step back.

He struck me as the kind of person to do things out of spite, so I wasn't surprised - though still uncomfortable - when he took a step forward. And another, and another, repeating the action until he was only about a foot in front of me. I leaned away while his eyes searched my face. Finally, he backed up a little, the scrutinizing look in his eyes almost gone.

"I beg your pardon, but you bare a striking resemblance to a friend of mine," he said, observing me from head to toe. "Not only in looks, but also in dress and manner of speaking." He chuckled to himself, his eyes meeting mine. They were light brown pools that held mischief and mystery: The eyes of a troublemaker. He tilted his head again, and the action removed a shadow. The sun struck his face, but he didn't squint at the sudden brightness; the light brought out green specks in his irises. "Tis most interesting," he mumbled quietly, and I realized that I had been staring at him.

I swallowed. "And who would this friend of yours be?" Someone like me, he'd said.

"The newly wed Mrs. Darcy."

I sighed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness," I said. The chances of someone else having a portal to Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ in his bathroom were less than slim and none, but I still rejoiced at the confirmation that it was Amanda.

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you familiar with Mrs. Darcy?"

I paused, wondering I if I should tell him. And then I conceded that he was currently my only hope of finding her. "I'm her sister, Sara Price."

He smiled, dashing and open. There was still a hint of impishness, but it was the closest to honesty he'd gotten thus far. "Well, Miss Price, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He bowed low, taking his hat off and holding it to his chest. "Captain Wickham. How may I be of service?"

Wickham? Damn. All the cute ones were awful people. Immediately, my tone changed. "You can leave me alone for starts, thanks."

His eyebrows shot up again, but this time in surprise rather than amusement. I felt a bit of satisfaction at that.

"How much is she paying you?" I asked, looking around for Amanda in the area, as if she would jump out from behind one of the very few trees and yell, "Got ya!" I knew my search was in vain, though.

He blinked a few times, taken aback by my sudden comment. "Beg pardon?"

"She's paying you to do this, right?" I asked, hopefully, wanting the explanation. "You know, to wear that outfit and pretend all this is real? How much are you getting paid?"

He looked down at his uniform, then looked back at me. "I can honestly say I haven't the slightest notion to what you are referring."

I looked him in the eyes, narrowing mine slightly, searching for that one flinch of the lips that would give him away. But it never came; he was completely bewildered. I sighed. "This is all real, then?" He nodded, as if it were ridiculous for me to think anything else - and, I suppose for him, it probably was. "Then my sister is really married to Mr. Darcy and on honeymoon." Again, he nodded. "Where?"

This time, he shrugged. "Precisely, I know not." I sighed in anguish and saw the ghost of a handsome, rogue grin. "But I do know where the two are bound on their trip."

"Where?" I asked again, a note of caution in my voice. Why didn't he just tell me the first time I asked, instead of being difficult? I had the strange feeling he was egging me on.

"London," he replied, the smile now obvious on his face, reaching both his voice and eyes. I didn't like this, whatever it was. I didn't like him.

"Which way?"

"From here, southwest."

"Thanks," I said, taking a look at the sun before setting off that way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw surprise wipe the smirk off his face. I knew he wouldn't expect me to know the directions. But after a few steps, my heart sunk, and I stopped. I had no clue where I was. Was I just supposed to keep going until I reached it? How long would that take? And how would I know that I'd found it?

"It's only thirty miles," I heard him say. I didn't need to see his face to know that grin was back. He approached me. "Perhaps assistance is required? All you need do is ask..."

It took me two breaths to fully swallow my pride, put on a sweet face, and say, "Please help me find my sister."

"Consider it done." He bowed at the waist again and looked up at me, his eyes sparkling attractively, his smile victorious, teasing, and annoyingly charming. "Shall we?" He spread an arm, gesturing for me to walk with him. I didn't. "You happened to find me at an opportune moment," he stated as he walked past me anyway, seeming to ignore the steam I knew was coming out of my ears and the fact that _he _had followed _me_. "I was to visit the lovely Bennet family, but they are not expecting me, so I won't be missed."

My head perked up and I finally had reason to go after him. I ran to his front, making him stop, and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Stay away from Lydia," I warned him quietly but with a tone of authority.

He looked down at my finger. "Your sister cautioned me on the very same matter." He shrugged then, not caring the slightest bit. "As you wish," he said, setting off again.

Once over the crest of the hill, I saw Longbourne - and the Bennet family, to my dismay. They had all awoken and were standing around Wickham's carriage, anxiously awaiting his return.

"Oh, Mr. Wickham," cried the eldest woman - probably Mrs. Bennet - with a full head of curls hidden beneath a bonnet. "What a lovely surprise!"

He bowed low, dashing and suave. "I had hoped it would be, but I have chanced across Mrs. Darcy's sister."

I saw Mrs. Bennet's face fall, and as she turned to me, her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips tightened into a thin line. "How fortunate are we to be graced with the presence of another Miss Price."

Though slightly insulted, I gave the woman credit for a successful sarcastic remark. I couldn't blame her, though; I'm sure my sister hadn't made the best of impressions on the woman, and at the moment, I was a threat to a possible suitor for one of her daughters. I wanted to tell her that as soon as I found Amanda, he was all hers.

"Oh, please, Mr. Wickham," Kitty squealed, putting a hand on his arm. "Do at least stay for breakfast!"

Lydia nodded enthusiastically in agreement, wrapping her arm around mine. "Yes, do! And Miss Price shall accompany us as well!"

Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes at me and raised her chin, regarding me like one would a clump of dirt on new white shoes. But she said, "Oh, yes, of course, Miss Price must join us." I put aside her cool observation; she was getting breakfast with Wickham as part of the arrangement, so I doubted she would complain as long as she could ignore my existence.

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	3. Breakfast with the Bennets

**Disclaimer: I thought I owned Lost in Austen. Then I woke up.**

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Chapter 3: Breakfast With the Bennets

I was pulled into the house by Lydia, Kitty, Mary, and Jane, all claiming that they would quickly become as close to me as they were to my sister - which was apparently very close. They led me down hallways, unaware that I had sped out of the very same ones barely thirty minutes prior, and brought me into a room with a long table adorned with plates, napkins, utensils, full cups of tea, and platters of meats and biscuits.

At the head of the table, an older man sat reading a book, seeming more bored than enthralled with it; he sighed as he turned the page, his eyes rocketing from side to side. His plate was empty, as he was waiting for the rest of his family to arrive.

"Ah," he said upon hearing footsteps, though he didn't look up from the pages. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such boisterousness that my family brings?"

Mrs. Bennet overlooked me and giggled giddily, like I had imagined her to do in the book when suitors for her daughters entered the house. "Mr. Wickham has payed us a visit!"

At this, surprisingly, Mr. Bennet actually looked up. Mr. Wickham entered and bowed his head to the master of the house, but Mr. Bennet put down his book and rose slowly. "Oh, please, Mr. Wickham, no bowing is necessary, this you know only too well." There was a rueful tone to his voice that Wickham acknowledged with a nod.

The rest of the family had not been paying attention while they spread butter and jam on their biscuits and sipped their tea, but I caught the hushed exchange. What had happened between Mr. Bennet and Mr. Wickham to have created such a relationship, not just civil, but reverent? What could Wickham have done to earn Mr. Bennet's respect?

I picked at the biscuit that Mary had placed on my plate while I looked at Wickham, only hearing every other word that Lydia was babbling at me, my eyes on him, seeing him...differently.

Then he looked up at me, grinning cockily and moving his eyebrows up and down once upon catching my gaze. And just like that, his aura of integrity disappeared, along with any morals I had momentarily believed him to have. I rolled my eyes and asked Lydia to repeat her question.

She giggled. "I asked if you had been otter hunting recently."

I paused with a piece of biscuit halfway to my mouth. "What?"

"Otter hunting," Mary said from her seat directly across from me, as if that clarified things. It did not.

"Why would I have been otter hunting?"

"Your dress, of course," Kitty said. I looked down at my jeans, boots, tank top, and jacket. "When your sister arrived at our house in similar clothing, she said it was what she wore when she went otter hunting."

"It is a common avocation in Hammersmith, is it not?" Lydia asked.

"Um." Otter hunting? In Hammersmith? "Yes, it is." I now noticed that all eyes were on me. "And I have been recently," I continued, "though I don't hunt. I just accompany. It is not a hobby of mine."

For some reason, Wickham smiled at his biscuit, like he knew something I didn't; I had a feeling he knew a lot of somethings that I didn't. He was the only one not looking at me. Mrs. Bennet seemed to regard me less haughtily after my words, though, so perhaps she shared my distaste for hunting otters.

"What is it that you do?" Mr. Bennet asked kindly. He was smiling openly at me, his eyes bright and curious, too young to be paired with his gray and receding hair. Amanda had at least made a good impression on him.

"I'm..." A paramedic. They would have absolutely do idea what that was. "A doctor."

Mrs. Bennet sputtered out her tea; Mr. Bennet blinked at me repeatedly, like he was trying to work out whether or not I was joking; the sisters all paused their eating; Wickham even looked at me strangely.

"A doctor?" Mrs. Bennet repeated, all respect for me that may have been beginning to form, gone. "That is hardly an occupation for a woman."

Well, she liked to express her opinions.

"I don't mean that I take out brain tumors, or anything like that," I said. This didn't improve my situation, as I only received blank stares from all the Bennets and an amused expression from Wickham. He leaned back in his chair, waiting to see what I would do next like I was a circus act. "I know basic medical care," I continued, choosing my words carefully. "It's a very important skill in Hammersmith, what with the injuries of otter hunting."

There were numerous gasps and hands went up to cover mouths. "Is otter hunting truly that perilous?" Mary asked, eyes wide.

I nodded sadly. "Unfortunately, it is."

Mrs. Bennet was the first to recover from her shock. No surprise there. "It is still remarkable that skills of such a profession be taught to a woman."

"They teach it to anyone who can learn it," I told her.

"It's a staggeringly difficult trade to master." I looked to where the voice had come from, down at the other end of the table. Had that been Wickham? "A very impressive feat to have accomplished, especially for one so young." It had been Wickham. He nodded his head to me.

"Yes, how old are you, my dear?" Mr. Bennet asked, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

"Twenty-three, Sir."

"So you are younger than Mrs. Darcy," Jane said.

I nodded while Mrs. Bennet asked, "And are there any other Price siblings we should be aware of?"

"Just my brother," I said, thinking of the demon spawn. "But you don't have to worry about meeting him."

She sipped her tea. "What misfortune," she mumbled into her cup.

"Well, I for one am shocked that we have never made his acquaintance," Jane said. "Or yours, for that matter. Why were you not present at the wedding?"

It wasn't an accusation; readers everywhere knew that Jane was incapable of such a thing. Still, it felt like a blow to my chest. "I had no idea what had happened," I replied quietly, looking down at my hands in my lap. "I was..."

"In Bath," Wickham interjected. Everyone looked to him, but his eyes remained fixed on me. "With her parents and brother, which is why no one was able to attend."

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. Why was he helping me, providing me with excuses? What was he playing at? Why did he have to be so charming one minute and devilish the next? I had to remind myself that this was the man who had betrayed Darcy, his best friend, and injured Georgiana beyond repair. "Yes," I said. "Which is why I'm here, to see my sister."

"You're going to London?" Lydia exclaimed. "May I come with you?"

Mrs. Bennet shook her head and stretched her neck, making herself look like a chicken. I thought she might start clucking, but instead she blustered, "Absolutely not." Lydia pouted.

"That reminds me," Wickham said, "that we really must leave soon if I am to escort Miss Price to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy before the day draws to a close."

"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Wickham," Mrs. Bennet sighed, deflated by the thought of his departure without having secured his hand in marriage to one of her daughters. I feared for Lydia.

Hands immediately attached themselves to my arms. "Oh, please stay, just briefly!" Kitty begged. "We must give you a proper dress!"

"We have the ones that your sister wore when she stayed with us," Mary informed me.

I hurriedly wiped my mouth with the napkin, realizing I'd been too busy trying to come up with a back story to eat my biscuit. "I really don't think they'll fit me," I said honestly. Amanda had a thing for coffee, and whether or not it was a myth, she always blamed the caffeine for stunting her growth. That was, to me, a ridiculous claim, but I was almost three inches taller than she was.

I was pulled from my chair anyway, and hurried out of the room, despite Mrs. Bennet's protests of, "No, dears, that is not necessary."

"On the contrary..." Wickham said before all I could hear was the giggling of my four new adopted sisters and our footsteps on the wooden stairs. They brought me up all the many flights, until we reached the top most hallway. I was steered into a room straight ahead, but I shot a glance down the hall to the right at the still locked doorway back to my world, my Hammersmith with no otter hunting. I glared daggers at it, willing it to open with my mind. I got nowhere.

"This is Lizzie's old room," Lydia explained as she sat on the bed next to me, "but Mrs. Darcy used it when she stayed here." Jane had already opened the grand oak bureau that was against the wall in front of me. Inside were four dresses: a greenish-gray colored one decorated with dark green minuscule leaf designs; a cream colored one with a golden ribbon around the middle; one that was an off-white with faint horizontal stripes - which wouldn't be bad at all unless they made me wear the woven bonnet and awful jacket with the severely ruffled sleeves - and finally, a plain, teal one, less cloth-like and more satiny.

I chose that last one. The four looked from me, to the dress, to each other, and nodded their approval of my taste. "Yes, definitely," they all agreed, commenting on how it would go nicely with my honey colored hair and green eyes. I just liked the fact that it came with neither bonnet nor heinous shrug.

I watched in the mirror as they adjusted the dress to fit me better. I was tall enough that Amanda's dress rose just to my ankles, creating an awkward too-short look. The sisters stared at it, mumbling to each other about what to do for the length. I stopped admiring how the color made my eyes look slightly bluer and pulled the material down, so the hem was brought almost to floor length, where it had originally started. Thankfully, I wasn't showing too much chest, as the four did nothing to fix my alterations.

Instead, they pulled open a drawer on the bottom of the armoire and told me to pick my shoes. I did, but upon holding them up, I knew there was no chance of them every fitting; my feet were probably a half size too big. "I'll stick with my own, thanks," I said, sliding on the comfortable knee-high boots I loved. They were not fond of this idea, but could make no argument; when I stood straight and the dress almost reached the floor, they could barely tell the difference between my boots and the shoes that would undoubtedly pinch my toes, if not break my feet.

"One more thing," Jane said. She moved to my backside and removed the elastic band that was holding my hair back in a ponytail, letting the long wavy layers cascade down my back. She then delicately rolled, braided, and twisted it, using bobby pins to neatly hold the thick waves together at the back of my head. My side bang wouldn't reach that far back, but Lydia and Kitty said that they liked it better as it was. They adjusted Jane's work so that wisps of golden hair framed my face. I decided that we five had done a good job of making me look presentable enough for society.

Stepping out of the room, I gave one last look at the wood at the end of the hallway. I didn't glare, though, or stop walking. I just finally accepted what had been inevitable probably since I found Elizabeth Bennet cleaning my sister's bathroom: Though it made no sense to me and my instincts told me to remain cynical about the whole thing, there was something here, in this screwed up world, that I needed to do. My only hope was finding Amanda, and there was nothing I could do for now but go along for the ride.

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**Reviews are always much appreciated *hint-hint***


	4. Stuck

**This chapter is a bit of a filler - shorter than the others, but too long to add to another part. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own lots of things. Lost in Austen isn't one of them.**

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Chapter 4: Stuck

I descended the second to last flight of stairs that would lead us back down to the ground level, where I couldn't see but was able to hear Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice saying things like, "Mr. Wickham, you are too kind," and "Oh, please, Mr. Wickham, do not tease me with such flattery." There were giggles in between her sentences.

I rolled my eyes, unimpressed. If she liked Wickham so much, why didn't she just marry him herself? She actually struck me as quite a ball-breaker, so maybe she could put the lying cheat in his place - if she could ever see past his mask of charismatic appeal and winning smile. It would also save everyone the trouble that was soon to come with Lydia, and if you sat Mr. Bennet down in his study with enough books, he probably wouldn't even notice that his wife was missing - although he may one day perceive the silence in his home as strange.

I reached the landing and was about to make my way down the final five or six stairs when a bunch of hands yanked me back. I really wasn't fond of all this grabbing and tugging, but the girls seemed to be having the time of their lives, and I couldn't bring myself to shout at them to stop trying to dislocate my limbs.

"This is so exciting!" Kitty exclaimed in a whisper.

The other three nodded enthusiastically and Mary stated, "It will be like a coming out party!"

"Let us announce you!" Lydia begged, her bright eyes alight with glee.

"Yeah, sure," I replied, gesturing for them to go ahead. Their mood was surprisingly contagious.

They rushed in front of me, blocking me from the view of anyone at the bottom of the stairs, and Lydia cleared her throat very loudly as a way of grabbing attention. I heard footsteps growing closer and stopping, and saw between Mary and Kitty that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet stood directly in front of the bottom steps while Wickham leaned against the wall.

"It is with great pleasure," Jane began in a tone of average audibility, which was probably about as loud as she could go, "that we introduce to society Miss Sara Price."

They clapped, giving me a round of applause that Mr. Bennet joined in on; even Wickham put his hands together from his post against the wall. Mrs. Bennet didn't play along, smiling through pursed lips.

Mary and Kitty, still blocking me, reached back for my hands and led me slowly to the bottom step. There, the girls stepped away, two going to either side of me.

Mrs. Bennet lost some of her pretended prissiness for a moment, then recovered to look vaguely impressed. Mr. Bennet smiled at me and beckoned his daughters forward, putting his arms around their shoulders and telling them how spectacularly the had executed their task.

But my gaze only flitted over them, landing and staying on Wickham. He had pushed himself from the wall, and now standing upright, took in the changes. I wanted to tell him to stop ogling me, just to see if he had the capability of feeling humble and blushing, but his slightly parted mouth was good enough for now.

Finally, he noticed that I had been watching him. He blinked once and then regained his usual composure. He bowed his head. "Quite the sight to behold."

I curtsied, feeling less ridiculous than I thought I would, probably because I was now wearing a dress that covered the awkward bending of the knees.

"Yes, it is a remarkable transformation, indeed," Mrs. Bennet agreed, her narrowed eyes flitting from me to Wickham. I wanted to hold up my hands in innocence, or to put them on her shoulders and shake some sense into her because she was insane to think that Wickham was all that he seemed to be. I didn't, though.

I did, however, wonder if I was the only one who caught Mrs. Bennet's icy tone. Wickham just may have, doing that damn hero-savior thing he was so fond of doing to me. He glanced at the grandfather clock and sighed. "I fear our time to part has arrived," he said. He bowed to each of the Bennets, giving an extra, distinct look at Mr. Bennet, and ending with Mrs. Bennet, saying, "As always, your prodigious hospitality is beyond what is necessary. I thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine," Mrs. Bennet replied, changing moods like a bipolar patient. Was I really the only one not totally enamored of Wickham? I managed not to exclaim what I was thinking as I was hugged by Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia and led outside to the carriage.

"You'll visit us again?"

"Please do! And bring Mrs. Darcy too!"

"Kitty, Mrs. Darcy can't just leave! Tell Mr. Darcy that we must have a ball at Pemberley instead!"

"Yes, as soon as they return from their honeymoon!"

"Jane, have Mr. Bingley convince them!"

I nodded my head, unsure what else to do to combat the bombardment of questions and get out alive.

"Of course she will. I will put a petition in myself." I wanted to scowl. Wickham. I whipped around and he raised his eyebrows playfully. I wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. I was about to open my mouth when Mr. Bennet asked to see me quickly.

He led me a few feet from the carriage, where Wickham remained to entertain the Bennet women. "I understand that you are not as close to my daughter, Elizabeth, as your sister is." I only nodded, deciding not to tell him that we were as close as anyone who had shared a portal between fiction and reality in a shower could be. "But surely you have see her? How does she fare?"

Mr. Bennet had the most expressive eyes: open, honest, clear, and caring. I put my hand on his arm. "She's well. And she's happy."

He looked relieved, and maybe a little sad too. He was going through exactly what Mum had been experiencing. Except, of course, that Mr. Bennet had an idea, though it was wrong, of Elizabeth's whereabouts, while Mum had no clue where Amanda had gone and was nearly pulling her hair out.

We walked back to the rest of the group, where I was once again pulled into a few last hugs. Wickham then offered me a hand into his carriage, which I ignored. I sulked down onto the wooden bench seat, sighing in acknowledgement that my bum would be numb after a few minutes of riding, which would be awful, as we had thirty miles to go.

I heard him saying a few last debonair farewells to the Bennets before he gave the driver the command to move and he entered the carriage. We rode for a few minutes in silence before he opened his charming little mouth again. "You are here to visit your sister?" he asked for conversation.

I let out a quiet little snort of laughter. "Yes, I suppose you could say that." Visit, hunt down - nuance. "And how exactly do you know Amanda?"

He smiled then, obviously thinking of her fondly. I wasn't sure whether I liked that smile or not; it was too sincere to come from Mr. Wickham. In fact, every time he smiled it bothered me a little. "Mrs. Darcy and I are rather well acquainted. I consider myself privileged to call her a friend. I saved her, you know."

"Oh really?" I said, doubting it.

He stared somewhere over my head, remembering. "Once...twice...thrice...a fourth occasion that should count for at least twenty, and a fifth that saved a life."

There was something in the way he said it and the manner in which he stared off into space that led my first instincts to believe that what he said was true, and that he wasn't bragging, merely stating facts. Then I remembered that this was George Wickham. George Wickham, who betrayed his best friend. George Wickham, who had left a gaping hole in the heart of Georgiana Darcy, and probably the hearts of many more poor woman who fell for his charm.

I leaned back against the carriage, feeling my limbs and teeth chatter with every bump and motion. I had been right; my bum was starting to grow numb already.

"Unaccustomed to carriage riding?" he asked with a knowing smile.

I looked at him suspiciously. Why did he do that? Act all honest and open one moment, letting me see what could have been his true self, and then cover it up with that 'I know something you don't' grin? What _did_ he know?

"It never suited me well," I replied.

"Pity. I'm sorry that I can do nothing to make this journey more pleasant." He didn't look very sorry. He looked like a kid about to step into a carnival ground.

I tried to remain civil. "And how long is this journey of ours going to last?"

He settled himself more comfortably, looking far too pleased. "Oh, I except us to arrive late this afternoon."

I chomped down on my tongue to keep from releasing a string of words that a respectable young lady would never say. He looked at me and I got the funny feeling that he might have been able to read my mind. With all his fancy powers of flirtation, I wouldn't put it past him.

A six hour carriage ride with Mr. Wickham. "Wonderful."

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**Would anyone want to go for a six hour carriage ride with Mr. Wickham? Read and review!**


	5. Joy Ride

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own lots of things, and Lost in Austen is one of them.**

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Chapter 5: Joy Ride

I could simply _feel_ his gaze on me, and every time I looked up, my instincts proved correct. He met my eyes, looking at me innocently as if to say, _What?_

I was able to spend most of the ride staring out the window and thinking of what I was going to scream at Amanda when I found her, but about halfway through our journey, he wore my patience down. "All right, what is it?"

"I just find it interesting, how strikingly similar you are to your sister." He tilted his head to the side. "And yet, how remarkably contrasting."

"Two sisters, alike, but different," I told him. "Your powers of observation are astounding."

"Finally," he sighed in relief, making me look up at him. I regretted it instantly as I saw his sarcasm. "Someone who notices." I scowled, even though I knew it gave him pleasure. Then he added, "I know a bit more about you than you think, Miss Price."

"No," I said, "you don't. You know Amanda." However the hell _that_ happened.

He nodded. "That I do, and from my knowledge of her, I ascertain the particulars that define you." I shrunk back in my seat, trying to blend into the wall of the carriage. I was positive that I did not want George Wickham to ascertain my particulars.

He did anyway.

"Spunk. It is what you and your sister both possess. The likeness ends there, though, for her spunk is blunt, straightforward. Yours is constantly surrounded by your arsenal of wit." He was adjusting the sleeves of his jacket as he spoke, giving his well-thought out words no notice; he knew exactly what he wanted to say. "Your sister is as subtle as my musket, but underneath that rough outer shell, she is unexpectedly fragile. You, on the contrary, have the look of a dainty white rose, a rather deceptive screen for the shrewdness you release upon opening your mouth." He looked at me, pensive, as if trying to see in my eyes whether he'd been right.

Well, no one had actually used the words 'dainty white rose' before, but many had told me that I wasn't as innocent as I looked. He then cleared his throat. "That, and your father is believed to be a fishmonger."

"Fishmonger?"

"My apologies. I must take the blame for spreading that tale." He didn't seem very guilty. "But fear not, for I made him a very successful, respectable fishmonger."

"My dad is an-"

"Accountant," he interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes, I'm aware."

"How do you know that?" My feelings for this man rocketed about like the ball in a pinball machine, from hatred to confusion to awe and beyond on the emotional spectrum.

"Mrs. Darcy told me."

I grumbled, "Mrs. Darcy ought to learn to keep her mouth shut."

"I would be offended," he stated. "She has told me so much, and yet has mentioned to you...nothing."

I scoffed. "Funny story about that, actually." I didn't elaborate on the door in the shower. "But I know more than enough about you, anyway."

This peaked his interest. He leaned in close to me, hushing his voice. "Is that so?"

I nodded, but somehow couldn't bring myself to speak. Where was my spunk now, my shrewdness? There was a glint from the sunlight in his eyes, bringing out those little flecks of green and gold. I wanted to tell him that he should stand in direct sunlight more often, but instead managed to say, "Georgiana Darcy."

He pulled back, out of the light, and this seemed to break my trance. I was disgusted with myself. Pretty eyes or not, this was George Wickham. "I know what you did to her, and to Mr. Darcy." For good measure, just to show that I still didn't trust him, no matter how many truths he was able to tell me about Amanda, I added, "So how you came to be so close with the wife of Mr. Darcy bewilders me."

"The greatest mysteries in life will remain so."

Something strange had suddenly happened to him: He was quiet. He stared at something out the window of the carriage. Above an angular chin were a pair of usually smirking lips that currently laid in an emotionless line. These sat below a sharp, straight nose, except for the small bump up near his eyes. I now had a clear view of his sideburn and the dark hair that was shaved just below his ear. It bounced up and down ever so slightly with the moving carriage, displaying its thickness. I was struck by the sudden urge to touch it; it looked so soft...

I gripped my dress with both hands, rubbing my fingers over the satiny material, looking away from his side profile and filling my mind with anything and everything else, throwing up my guard with extra attention and strength.

"It was rather good fortune that the lovely Miss Bennets were able to find you that dress." He must have returned to his normal self, because I caught him appraising it, his eyes noticing my hands stroking the fabric.

"It was one of Amanda's."

"Yes, I know." I was beginning to grudgingly accept the fact that Wickham seemed to know everything. The corners of his mouth turned up. Was that genuine? "I had it made for her."

This time, I did not follow. "What?" There was no way Wickham would have made a dress for Amanda. Talking was one thing, especially if she'd drank too much wine at a party, but taking gifts? Maybe she'd been lost like I had been, lost and desperate. What did she have to do to get it from him?

"I had that dress made for your sister," he repeated, slower, enunciating his consonants.

I rolled my eyes at the laughter in his. "I got that part, thanks. What I don't understand is, why?"

"Why I made a dress for her?" I nodded. "She needed my help."

There it was again, that help factor. Wickham pretending to be Robin Hood, lending aid to those in need, trotting along in his carriage and handing out handkerchiefs to damsels in distress. Had my sister fallen for that before she found her way to Mr. Darcy? How many times had she read the bloody book? "And what did you ask for in return?"

Now, he seemed confused. "In return?"

"Yeah, what did you get out of it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I repeated. "Why?"

"I told you already. I'm a close friend."

"All right, look, Wickham," I said, tired of this, "I don't know what game you're playing here, but I'd appreciate it immensely if you would stop." This guy had to have ulterior motives. He didn't do things out of the goodness of his heart.

"I'm afraid-"

"I just really need you to stop being a bloody knight on a white horse, okay? You're no prince."

He looked hurt for a split second, so I backed off a bit. But I blinked, and the look was gone, replaced by a blank stare. "I do not have a white horse."

I ignored him. "What were you doing, chatting up my sister and giving her dresses? And what's with the excuses and covering for me? You and I both know perfectly well that my parents and I were not in Bath during the wedding."

I told myself not to get too thrilled by the prospect, but I thought I saw something like honesty flash on his face. "I know not your brother, nor your parents, though I am certain they are not named Reginald and Nora. I know not whether you are truly from Hammersmith." I could almost swear it _was_ honesty. Someone ought to tell him it was a good look for him; my face involuntarily softened. "What I do know is that your sister was desperately in need of help, and if not for my assistance..." He trailed off, leaving me wondering what would have happened, as he continued on a different note. "She was a very long way from home, and it would sadden me if the same dismal situation were to befall you." He looked at me as if he was considering something. "As the newly wed Mrs. Darcy is a close friend of mine, and you happen to be her sister, I have taken responsibility for your wellbeing."

His openness paralyzed me, my mouth slightly agape. Guilt set it as a heat rose to my cheeks. If what he was telling me was the truth, then I had been utterly uncivil for no real reason. Was that really all it took for him to tear down my guard? Could Amanda's have been even easier for him to get past? I wondered aloud, my voice too quiet and entranced for my liking, "Why?"

His mouth parted, as though he were about to speak. This was a Wickham that I had never imagined; I couldn't help my heart from beating faster at the thought of discovering what lay beneath his layers of devilish charm.

But maybe he could read my mind, or maybe he felt me getting close to finding a hole in his defensive wall, too close for comfort, so he sealed it up. "You would rather not have my aid to keep you from spluttering like a fish out of water?"

Disappointment crushed my chest, but my eyes widened and I found myself able again to pounce on him, infuriated. "I do not splutter!"

He shrugged. "Agree to disagree, Miss Price."

I huffed out a grumbled. "I just want to know what your intentions are."

"I assure you," he said, full of fake honesty, which did not look as good on him as the real kind, "my intentions are pure."

Yeah, right. "Agree to disagree, Mr. Wickham." I let a scornful tone sneak into my voice, more annoyed than anything that I had let my guard down - again - because I thought he had been doing the same.

He seemed impressed by my retort. "Miss Price, I'm given the vague impression that you are not very fond of me."

"Good heavens, Mr. Wickham!" I gasped, mocking innocence as I covered my heart with my hand. "What on earth gave you such an idea?"

"Intuition," he said bluntly, earning himself a fake smile. "Would you accept the answer that your face is even more amusing than your sister's when you are taken by surprise?"

I straightened my back and looked out the window, sick of his rogue smirk and laughing eyes and raised eyebrows. "Absolutely not."

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**Wickham is so much fun to write. Let me know if I did him justice!**


	6. Brewing Trouble

**Disclaimer: I'm working on owning less stuff. Seeing as I don't own Lost in Austen, I'm off to a good start.**

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Chapter 6: Brewing Trouble

Wickham had enough sense to not take my silence as an invitation for conversation. We managed to complete the last few hours of the carriage ride with little to no sound.

"Your lack of conformity makes you terrible company, did you know?" he said.

I nodded once, not taking the bait, and that was the end of it until we turned down a bumpy gravel road. I saw out the window that we were approaching a massive stone estate, set in front of rolling hills and surrounded by thick foliage.

"This is it?" I asked, my voice coated in awe. Honeymooning couples in present day London usually stayed in hotels considerably smaller than the countryside manor we were drawing closer to. I shouldn't have been so amazed by it, though: this was Fitzwilliam Darcy, who probably had three or four summer homes bigger than this one spanned across the counties.

"Inconceivable," Wickham said all of a sudden, prompting me to face to him. "It has found a voice." I showed him how very little he amused me by returning my gaze to the building without gracing upon him a comment, though he added, "Yes, this is it," afterwards.

As we approached the front entrance, I made out two figures who were exiting through oak double doors, so tall and wide that an elephant could probably squeeze through them. By the time the carriage came to a stop, I had already identified the short woman with auburn hair as my sister. Obviously not expecting anyone, she exchanged a confused look with the man next to her, who stood at least a foot taller and shook his head to indicate he was unaware guests would be arriving.

So this was the famous Mr. Darcy. His brown hair was surprisingly messy for someone who was supposed to be so prideful and prejudiced, and his nose was crooked, like it had been broken once or twice. He had a noticeably angled jaw bone and a cleft chin. But what really got me were his deep set, heavily browed eyes. They made it seem like he should be perpetually frowning, but he wasn't frowning at all. He was smiling softly, looking down at my sister with such incandescent joy that I beamed, my heart melting with happiness for her.

"Ah, yes," Wickham mumbled. "The great Swellerando..." He began to slide across the wooden seat to open the door.

"What?" I asked, wanting to laugh at the ridiculous nickname Wickham must have privately dubbed Darcy, but refraining. If it came down to it - which I now realized, as the two men would be about five feet from each other, it could - I would side with Darcy. He didn't reply, but instead jumped down from the carriage, landing with nothing more than the light crunch of gravel.

There it was: the Darcy frown, accompanied by those eyes, so far set back that when they widened at the sight of Wickham, they appeared to be bugging out of his head. He remained stiff as he robotically nodded his head. "Mr. Wickham."

"Mr. Darcy," Wickham greeted politely. "Always a pleasure."

"Indeed."

Had I tried, I probably could have grasped the tension and pulled it right out of the air. Amanda was able to help diffuse some of it quickly. "Mr. Wickham!" she said, pleased by his arrival, unlike her husband. "It's so good to see you!"

Wickham bowed low. "Please, Mrs. Darcy, the delight is mine. But save your excitement for the precious cargo."

There was something about the way his voice changed when he said the last two words, but I didn't have time to analyze it. For the second time, I ignored his hand and jumped down alone, enjoying refusing his help. But as soon as I touched down, I was swept up in a tidal wave of a hug. Wickham had barely stepped out of the way in time to miss being caught in the wake.

"Sara!" Amanda cried, swinging me around. "What are you doing here?" And then, coming back down to earth, "How did you get here?"

"Same way you did," I replied, catching my breath after having had the air squeezed out of me. "I took a shower." Wickham, who stood close enough to hear, furrowed his brows; I found I liked that he didn't know absolutely everything going on for once. "And speaking of," I added, "you have a lot of explaining to do."

She nodded, hooked her arm through mine, and started to lead me inside, telling me a fury of events, of which I only caught every other word because I realized something. I glanced over my shoulder and interrupted, "Is it safe to leave those two alone?" The men in question stood some distance from each other, positioned as if they were about to duel.

Amanda waved her hand. "Of course. Why would-" She then stopped in her tracks. "Oh. Right. Forgot." Whirling around, she called, "Mr. Wickham, why don't you join us inside?" He nodded to Darcy, and strode towards us, his hand on his rapier.

_Forgot_? Amanda Price, obsessive veteran reader of Pride and Prejudice and wife of Mr. Darcy himself _forgot_ that allowing Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy to remain unsupervised would produce the same results as throwing a piece of meat between two starving dogs?

I probably would have had time to ask her about it in a hushed voice before Wickham caught up to us, but Darcy called her back, pointing down the drive to a second carriage. "Any more siblings?" he asked in good humor when she was at his side; we had strategically placed ourselves between the two men.

"Not that I know of," she answered honestly.

He leaned around her, and ignoring Wickham to my left, said kindly, "It is with great elation that I make your acquaintance. And please excuse this rushed greeting; we do not normally receive this many guests at once."

He finished his sentence just as the carriage door swung open, and I saw his eyes narrow. Amanda groaned, and behind me, Wickham mumbled, "The cloaca herself."

Taking the hand offered by her driver, a woman elegantly stepped down to the ground. Her dress was a bit over the top for daily wear, as was the hideous hat she wore on her head. It was red, somewhat complementing her brown dress, but it was lopsided, tilting to the right. I supposed it could have been meant to sit that way, but it honestly looked like it was just too tall to stand up straight and she'd gotten tired of fixing it.

Her red curls hung on the left side of her face, the longest ending just beside her neck, which she elongated to elevate her posture. Her lips were set in a tight line, and her yellow eyes were shockingly similar to her hair. She looked like a bird, perhaps a hawk, and this comparison was only accentuated by her lack of eyebrows and beak-like nose.

Her identity remained a mystery to me, but I curtsied low anyway, following Amanda's lead.

"Lady Catherine," Darcy greeted.

It was a good thing I was looking down in my curtsy at that moment, because it probably would not have made a very good impression on her ladyship if her first sight of me was with my jaw slack. I regained my composure before rising.

"Fitzwilliam." She responded with a small smile that disappeared as she moved on to Amanda. "Mrs. Darcy," she said, not in greeting but not rudely; she was simply stating a fact, observing Amanda's presence. She skimmed over me and her gaze fell upon Wickham. When she addressed him, however, she did not bother to hide her disdain.

"And who might this be?" she asked next, regarding me with interest.

"My sister, your ladyship," Amanda replied. I knelt again, unsure what else to do.

She perked up. "Another Miss Price?" she said excitedly, leaning in and scrutinizing me. Obviously satisfied with something she saw, she pulled back, appraising me hungrily, like she was a wolf, and I'd somehow gotten the short straw of playing the sheep.

"To what do we owe the honor of your visit, dearest Aunt?" Darcy asked. He glanced at me quickly, and I thanked him with my eyes for his attempt at drawing her attention away from me, though it didn't work. She answered without moving her gaze.

"As it is your last night in London, I thought it fitting to invite you and Mrs. Darcy to dinner at Rosings.

Darcy nodded, really laying it on thick. "A marvelous idea."

"Yes, I thought so," Lady Catherine replied smoothly, ignoring her nephew's praise. "I was unaware that you had guests, but I insist that Miss Price join us." She paused, and the corners of her mouth turned down like she was smelling sour milk. "And Mr. Wickham as well."

Wickham grinned easily and bowed at the waist. "It would be an honor."

"I'm sure," she said curtly.

Amanda hastily stepped in. "Thank you very much for such an offer. We will most certainly be in attendance this evening."

She gave me one last meaningful look before saying, "Excellent," and returned to her carriage. I bent my knees in respect once again and stood still with the others. The coach had made it halfway down the drive before Amanda was suddenly alight with action.

"What time is it?" she cried.

"Nearly four."

She looked me up and down. "That's my dress, and it would do, but I've already worn it to dinner with Lady Catherine once." She grabbed my hand and began to pull me inside, again oblivious to leaving Wickham and Darcy alone. "We need something different, and we only have an hour or so."

She led me to her and Darcy's master bedroom, a grand space about as big as my whole loft. Directly upon entering, there was a parlor room for entertaining, complete with a plush couch and a set of a table and chairs used for tea. Further in was the actual bedroom, with an ornate Persian carpet that stretched almost wall to wall over the dark hardwood floors. In the middle of the floor sat the enormous canopied bed, noticeably bigger than a king size and decorated with lush and satin pillows and covers.

She pointed to the bed and told me to sit, then opened her wardrobe. Inside the oak bureau was a number of dresses that she skimmed through. "No, no, no," she said, pushing them aside and moving on to the next one. "No, no...maybe." She pulled one out and handed it to me for inspection. It was white and covered in lace. I shook my head.

"All right." She continued her furious search. "How about this one?" It was emerald and had the same satin material of my current dress, but it had longer sleeves, more puffing around the shoulders, and awful ruffling collar. I indicated to the frilly neck, and she said, "Good point."

I waited patiently, Amanda's flurry of activity making me calmer than I felt I should be. "Why was she looking at me like that?"

"Not really sure," Amanda replied, preoccupied with her hunt for a dress. "Just make sure you're not left alone with her. Stick to Wickham."

"Right," I grumbled, "because that's an appealing idea."

"You don't like him?"

I stared in horror at her back. "Like him? Why would I like him? He's a lying cheat."

"Oh, come on, he has some redeeming qualities." She began to pull something out from the very back of the bureau.

"Yeah," I agreed sarcastically, "like those penetrating eyes and that charming little smile and that stupid hero complex thing he's got going." I shook myself at the thought of his traits, refocusing on my point. "All those lovely attributes he uses to prey on his victims."

Amanda look surprised as she successfully retrieved a dress from the depths of the monstrous wardrobe. "That's a little harsh isn't it?"

"Harsh?" Was memory loss a side effect of living in a book? "You know what he's done!"

She shrugged. "I know him differently than you do."

I gasped, a thought striking me like a blow to the face. "No. Amanda, you didn't-"

She guessed correctly at the reasons behind the scandalized look on my face. "Fall for Wickham?" She burst out laughing. "Of course not! He and I are better suited to be friends."

A little more relaxed, I accepted the dress from her. It was made of crimson silk, with a golden embroidery belting just below the bodice and at the neckline. This I approved of and began to change into, but continued, "So you two are friends?"

"Yes."

"And he really had this made for you?"

She looked fondly at the teal dress I had just put on the bed. "Yes."

I threw up my hands in defeat. "I'm tired of trying to figure this all out. What kind of screwed up version of Pride and Prejudice is this?" She laughed at my despair and confusion. "You have some serious explaining to do when we get back."

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**As always, read and review!**


	7. For Her Ladyship's Entertainment

******Disclaimer: I'm working on owning more stuff. Lost in Austen isn't going to be included in that 'stuff.'**

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Chapter 7: For Her Ladyship's Entertainment

By laws of society and just plain old common sense, Darcy and Amanda sat next to each other in the carriage, which left me the seat next to Wickham. On the bright side, it meant that every time I looked up I wouldn't see him staring at me intently. Or thoughtfully. Or seductively. Or any other way.

Unfortunately, the pros ended there.

Instead, I had a lovely view of Mr. Darcy's scowling face whenever he chanced to look at Wickham, and seeing as we were basically sitting in a box, that occasion arose often. And just because Wickham wasn't directly in my line of sight did not mean he kept his eyes elsewhere. I caught him glancing down at me every so often, and when I didn't see him, I noticed Amanda looking between the two of us.

On top of that, even though it wasn't a tight fit in the carriage, there was just something about the puffy evening dresses that seemed to take up a lot of space. I smushed myself into the wood of the wall, but somehow, when we went over bumps in the road, his leg or shoulder would brush mine.

I sighed in relief when the carriage finally stopped

"Let the festivities begin," Wickham said jovially as we filed out of the carriage. I was beyond terrified by the unknown that awaited me inside the dark brick castle that was Rosings, but I managed to stick it to Wickham again by completely overlooking his extended hand and accepting that of Darcy as I descended onto the ground.

Amanda fell back to walk next to me, taking my arm. "I've survived an evening with Lady Catherine before," she said. "Everything will be fine. Don't be nervous."

"Nervous?" I repeated. My heart pounded louder with every step closer to the double door entrance of the palace. I remembered the way Lady Catherine had examined me like I was an item she was considering purchasing. "I'm too scared to be nervous."

In front of me, Wickham made a little coughing noise, and I forgot some of my fear while glaring at the back of his head. For his part, he seemed excited, showing no signs of uneasiness whatsoever, walking with a skip in his step. That was fine; I had enough anxiety for the both of us.

Soon after, we reached the doors and were led inside by two sharply dressed butlers with white wigs and white gloves. They took us through the enormous marble floored entrance hall and I couldn't help but bend my neck back and stare up at the massive gold and crystal chandelier that hung at least thirty feet above my head. From this room, there were four hallways that branched out from the grand foyer, two symmetrically placed on each side. The other direction choices were three sets of red carpeted stairs, a single wide one that went down and two narrower flights on either side of that leading up.

The two men, each holding onto the lip of his black coat with a white gloved hand in some kind of butler protocol, took us down the middle stair case. I was grateful for another two spectacular chandeliers that hung at the bottom of the stairs, as the whole house suddenly gained a dark mahogany theme and it was difficult to see.

Directly in front of us was the opening to the sitting room. A blazing marble fireplace rose from floor to ceiling, a dark red couch facing it. On the sofa sat two women, one of whom I recognized as Lady Catherine. I did not know the other.

A butler went to notify Lady Catherine of our arrival, and after a moment we were beckoned into the room. By the light of the candelabras, I took note of the ruby red pillows, table cloth, and carpeting, and glanced down self-consciously at my crimson dress, afraid I may have inadvertently coordinated myself with Rosing's color scheme.

But Lady Catherine, dressed in navy, seemed not to notice. We bowed and curtsied, and she rose to her feet and approached me. Through a pair of glasses, she inspected me better than she had earlier, and her findings made her grin, making me even more uncomfortable, which I hadn't thought was possible.

"Such as delicate specimen," she muttered to herself, pleased. It reminded me of how Wickham had described me as a dainty flower. I had always liked being seen like that, being underestimated and then easily exceeding expectations. I never thought it would get me into trouble. "Perhaps trade may be overlooked."

Next to me, Amanda gulped audibly, but I didn't know what that meant and didn't have time to ask before Lady Catherine continued. "Anne," she said, addressing the young woman who remained seated on the couch. She now stood up, and in the light I saw she was an exact duplicate of her mother. "You shall sit beside Miss Price at dinner and converse." Poor Anne looked even more terrified than I was as she nodded sheepishly and curtsied.

"Shall we have entertainment before we dine?" Lady Catherine inquired next. "Mrs. Darcy, what was that fascinating card game? Bum-face, correct?"

"Bum-face?" I asked, turning a snicker into a soft cough I covered with my mouth. Not in my wildest dreams - and this day's adventures had been far wilder - would I have ever thought Lady Catherine would, under any condition, say bum-face.

"Oh, yes," Lady Catherine said. "Perhaps you know it as Humpty Dumpty? Mrs. Darcy, that was the name, was it not?"

"Um, yes, your Ladyship." Amanda nodded at me, telling me to just go with it.

"Oh!" I breathed as if realization had just struck. "Humpty Dumpty."

Lady Catherine straightened up more. "Wonderful. Let us play." She sent a butler for a deck of cards and said, "You shall sit beside me, Miss Price."

"Of course," I replied, taking the seat next to her around a table. Amanda sat on my other side, with Darcy next to her and Wickham across from me. Anne took the final seat next to her mother, but opted not to play.

I picked up the rules pretty quickly, as it turned out that "Bum-face" was just a mixture of "War" and "Go Fish" with some betting. Lady Catherine repeatedly said how she excelled at the game, even though it revolved around luck. Really, I think that no one wanted to show her that they had a higher card than she did to keep her happy; she didn't seem to make the connection that the queen Amanda used against my ten had been in her hand when Lady Catherine had played a knave.

By the end of two games, I had the pleasure of winning most of my rounds against Wickham, doing my best to ignore the way he didn't look at what he put down, but rather at me, an eyebrow constantly raised and accompanied by a half-smile.

I was collecting my winnings after beating him once again when I stiffened at a voice in my ear. "You would do well to disregard the advances of Mr. Wickham. Do not waste your time on such undesirables." I stared straight ahead of me at the space between Darcy's and Wickham's heads as Lady Catherine continued. "I have other plans for you, my dear."

She refocused on her cards while I remembered to breathe and pulled myself back into the game. Yes, I knew Wickham was no good, but I would hardly call him undesirable. There was just something about her telling me what I had already decided for myself that I found rude and annoying. And what did 'other plans' entail? I would rather make plans for myself, thanks.

"I am in the mood for some music," she said after winning a few more rounds. "Do you play the piano forte, Miss Price?"

I hesitated before answering, "Yes, your Ladyship, but I fear that I have not in quite some time." The last time I sat down to play was a few weeks ago. I kept a keyboard in my apartment for whenever I felt like playing, but I hadn't sat down and practiced until my fingers were numb since I was sixteen.

Once again, I found that I had managed to please her while my own heart sank even further into my stomach. "I shall wish to hear you nonetheless." She gestured to the next room, where I could see six sitting chairs arranged in three rows. I assumed there was a piano in front of them. "Come." She rose, and we had no choice but to follow.

"What did she say to you?" Amanda asked quickly in a hushed voice.

I leaned over to whisper back, "She told me to stay away from Wickham because she has other plans for me." Amanda mumbled something to herself and looked up. "What does that-"

"If you would please, Miss Price," Lady Catherine interrupted, pointing me to the piano. "Not for very long, only until my other guests grace us with their presences."

Mr. Darcy spoke before she could get another word in. "My apologies, Aunt, but other guests?"

"Yes, of course," she said, as if it were obvious that others were coming. She began to assign seats to everyone. "I have invited the Collins brothers as well."

"Oh, no," Amanda whispered as we went our separate ways. I didn't need to see her face to picture the despair that accompanied that kind of tone.

Then, to my surprise, I heard Wickham, his voice hushed and quick. "Mrs. Darcy, I fear another fishy tale will not suffice." I turned to look at him, and was even more confused by the truly worried look on his face as his eyes met mine. But then he was pointed to a seat in the audience while I was given no choice but to play.

Had the situation been different, I would have seized the chance to play on such a gorgeous instrument as the white piano. But the situation was not different. I remembered many of the classical pieces I'd learned and performed at recitals, but my fear of stumbling, especially in front of Lady Catherine, was almost making my hands shake.

I sat on the stool and raised the lid, my heart slightly melting at the sight of the immaculate ivory and polished black keys. I then considered the multitude of sheet music placed before me, none of which I had even heard of before. I caught a glimpse of Lady Catherine's eyebrows shooting up as I pushed aside the sheet music and decided to choose one from memory instead. I racked my brains for something they had never could have listened to before so they wouldn't notice if I fumbled.

Aware that I was probably taking too long, I finally settled on Debussy. I totally blanked on "Prelude" and began with "Menuet" instead, eventually finding my rhythm and comfort. By the time I reached "Clair de lune," I had yet to stumble and was content in my own little world, finding my head moving with piece, as it had when I was younger. I debated momentarily on whether or not to continue on with "Passepied," but my fingers were starting to cramp, so I turned the last note of "Clair de lune" into a finish.

Applause followed quickly. When I looked up, Amanda was smiling brightly at me, like she'd done all those years ago at my recitals. But there was something in her eyes, and she turned to share the tense look with Wickham, who was staring at me.

"Brava!" Lady Catherine cried, shocking me away from Wickham. I thought perhaps it had been my imagination, but she was clapping enthusiastically and led the members of the small crowd in rising to their feet. This was the first time I had ever seen her showing real feelings, and from the odd looks she was earning from her daughter and nephew, I assumed it may very well have been a first for them too.

"Brava, indeed." That was a new voice. At least, for me it was. Amanda's eyes bugged out of her head.

I saw four new additions to the audience standing in the doorway. "Excellent," Lady Catherine said. "Miss Price, allow me to introduce the Collins brothers."

I had no recollection of these characters. Probity looked bored out of his mind; Elysium looked quite ill, given his grayish skin and repulsive yellow smile; Cymbal, who told me to call him Tinkler, had rosy cheeks and was making no effort to squeeze into the clothes that were far too small for him. The only one I knew was Mr. Collins, who was so tall and thin that I wondered if I would be able to see him should he turn sideways.

That was most definitely not how I had imagined Mr. Collins. I remembered seeing a movie version, where he was short and socially awkward in a ridiculous and comical manner. There was nothing comical about this Mr. Collins; he was just creepy. He put his hand in his trouser pocket and-

Oh, God. I thought I was going to be sick.

"Miss Price, your talent soars beyond that of the most prodigious pianists." He bowed, and only because it was starting to become habit did I curtsy despite my horror.

"She most certainly is," Lady Catherine agreed, an underlying sly tone to her voice. Her voice then changed abruptly. "Shall we dine?"

Once again, we filed behind her and left the sitting room. Amanda quickened her pace to squeeze between me and Probity, who made no attempt to converse, which I was more than fine with.

"Sara, you really need to stop impressing Lady Catherine."

I looked at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? I thought I was supposed to make a good impression."

Amanda gulped. "You've done too well." She gestured with her head to the four Collins brothers. "This is what she meant by 'other plans' for you."

She moved back into line next to Mr. Darcy, leaving me to come to the realization that Lady Catherine was trying to marry me off.

No. No more thinking needed. I knew I was going to be sick.

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**Dun-dun-dun! *GASP* the meddling Lady Catherine strikes again, with her sidekick Mr. Collins in tow! By the way, my knowledge of piano is...lacking...so if I butchered anything, feel free to tell me. read and review!**


	8. Wounds

**Disclaimer: Between this update and the last, I failed to acquire the rights to Lost in Austen. Dang it.**

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Chapter 8: Wounds

I wanted to cry. I wanted to literally sink to my knees and sob.

But I didn't. I continued to delicately spoon soup into my mouth, just breathing in an attempt to beat back waves of nausea. I was ready to put it on record that I was prepared to do anything to get Wickham's flirting back. Sure, it was maddening, but it was also harmless, and I could deal with it.

This, I couldn't handle. Probity pushed food around on his plate, still looking bored; Elysium ate with a contraption of his own invention; Cymbal inhaled food and made a mess; Mr. Collins occasionally put his hand under the table in the middle of a conversation.

I glanced down at the other end of the table. Lady Catherine sat at the head, Darcy on her right and Amanda on her left. Wickham sat next to Amanda. In between us all were the Collins brothers and Anne, leaving me as ostracized as was possible.

Amanda gave me a pitying look, and when Lady Catherine wasn't paying attention to her, she would lean over and say something to Wickham, who consistently made eye contact with me, a frown on his face.

Where was his bloody white horse now?

I tried everything I knew to start a conversation with Anne, but only managed to get a few monosyllabic words out of her, and was forced to speak to whichever Collins brother said my name first.

I decided to take a lesson from Anne.

"That's interesting," I mumbled in response to Mr. Collins telling me Lady Catherine was his patroness. I refrained from eye contact, instead staring down at the untouched food on my plate. My stomach was far too upset for me to eat, and I could see out of the corner of my eye when he brought to his nose the hand that had been under the table, which kept my appetite even further from me.

"Yes, Lady Catherine is a wonderful patroness. She endlessly bestows upon me advice for life." Splendid. Why can't you marry her? " 'Seek out spirit, Mr. Collins,' she told me."

I was making it my goal to be as dispirited as possible, but he didn't really seem to notice my efforts.

"I call it a trunket," Elysium said, holding up the utensil he was using to eat. His silverware sat untouched in its place setting. It was a spoon and fork combination that I had seen before, in my London, but the depression could be opened, separating to two sides that made it look like a wrench. It could probably serve as both cutlery and weapon.

"That's interesting," I said.

Cymbal made no attempt to hide his lack of table manners as he belched. "I hope for the day when you may freely call me Tinkler," he said.

"As do I." He couldn't tell it was a lie.

"Perhaps you wonder why I'm called Tinkler." I didn't answer, but jumped in my seat when he raised his voice, booming, "_I am become a sounding brass, or a tinkling symbol_." Now I was looking at him, as was everyone else at the table. "One Corinthians thirteen, verse one."

I nodded. "Of course."

Probity was easily my favorite, as he was far less talkative than I was at the moment. When his brothers allowed him opportunity to speak, he failed to produce much of a sound. I could have sighed in relief, and I did when dinner was finally over and we were moved to yet another sitting room.

I thought surviving dinner meant that the worst was over, but I was quickly proven wrong. The room was set up with a table and chairs to the left of the fireplace and a few more chairs to the right. This would have been my opportunity to steal away with Amanda or to at least have some back up to thwart the brothers in their conversation attempts.

Lady Catherine obviously had other plans. Of the four chairs around the small table, she took one, Anne took another, and she instructed Darcy and Amanda to sit with her. That left me alone with Cymbal, who burped often, and Mr. Collins, who was still trying to talk to me about how fantastic Lady Catherine was. I had lost track of Elysium, but that only meant I had one less Collins brother to avoid, and I already didn't count Probity, who had quickly fallen asleep in one of the chairs.

I had been in fictional Georgian England for less than twelve hours and I was already being set up for marriage by the queen of society, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I'm sure I should have been flattered, but I wasn't, not in the slightest way. I just wanted to get out of this place as fast as I could.

Wickham leaned against the marble fireplace, his body facing my side of the room. I looked up at him desperately, my eyes pleading with him, begging him to help me. To my surprise, he was already looking at me; he subtly nodded and covertly held up a single finger: _Wait_. I clung to this flicker of hope, aware of how strange it was to be beyond grateful for George Wickham's presence.

A few minutes of me avoiding words with more than three syllables had passed while I wondered what the hell Wickham was waiting for. Then Elysium entered the room, saying something to Lady Catherine with a reverent bow before taking a seat in a chair next to me, a pipe in his hand.

I glared at Wickham; he probably wanted me to suffer, and was enjoying my distress. He shook his head, as if he were denying the claims of which I was mentally accusing him.

"This is Iros,"Elysium told me, successfully grabbing my attention by sticking the pipe under my nose.

I leaned away from it, the sickly sweet smell making it hard for me to breath. I was never one for smoking. Amanda had done it very briefly, so I asked to try once. She said she'd rather me not, but if I needed to, she was glad it was at least with her and not some group of idiots. But after one drag of a cigarette, I'd gotten woozy enough to be considered drunk. My head had ached and I had felt the need to hurl. I had almost gone through an entire bottle of toothpaste before getting the awful taste out of my mouth.

"That's nice," I said, my voice catching due to the spreading smoke.

Elysium nodded, excited. "It is a brew of my own devising." He puffed on it a few more times, now fully surrounded by a cloud of smoke. I shifted as far away as I could, but this only took me closer to Cymbal.

"Eh-hem." I looked up to see Wickham had cleared his throat. Now what did he want?

He furtively pointed to his throat, glancing over to check that Lady Catherine was not looking at him. I narrowed my eyes, finding it hard to see as a thin layer of exhaust from the pipe slowly spread in front of me, making everything hazy.

Obviously needing a different code, Wickham fisted his hand and put it in front of his mouth, miming coughs. I finally mimicked his action, having realized what he wanted, and found it was very easy to do, as the smoke filled my mouth and nostrils.

He quickly removed himself from his perch and strode over to me, attempting to fan away the smoke with his hand. "Miss Price?" he asked, his voice full of concern, but his eyes telling a different story, "are you well?"

I coughed some more to sell it better, but actually began to choke in earnest. He furrowed his brows, grasping the fact that I really wasn't okay. My eyes watered, blurring my vision, but I saw a troubled expression on his countenance.

"Let us get you some fresh air for a moment." He took my hands and raised me to my feet. "Excuse me, gentlemen." He put a hand on the small of my back and continued to hold my other hand, steering me to glass double doors that led outside to a large stone balcony.

The sun had long since set, but the light from the candles inside the mansion and that of the moon sufficiently illuminated the terrace. It was a beautifully designed area, with a waist high stone balustrade, the balusters themselves in the shape of teardrops.

I put my hands on the coping and felt the light breeze on my face. I inhaled, long and deep, relishing in the air that was not polluted by that awful concoction. When I felt something tap my shoulder, it was Wickham, holding out to me a handkerchief.

"Thanks," I said, accepting it and wiping at my eyes.

"Not one for smoke?" He leaned against the coping and crossed his arms comfortably.

I shook my head, unable to help it as my mouth turned down and I scrunched my nose. "Sadly, no. I've never been able to stomach them."

"I believe I have just found something in which you and I are in accordance." He sounded surprised.

"Well, how about that?" I played with the handkerchief, rubbing the soft cloth with my fingers. "Thank you," I said after a moment's silence. He titled his head. "For helping me out of there."

He bowed, over the top, as usual. "Anything to be of service to a lady in distress."

I rolled my eyes, looking out to star-filled sky. "You and your white horse," I mumbled.

"Miss Price, you repeatedly grouse about my white horse," he said, completely serious. "I will take this moment to once more inform you that my horse is not white. It's a bay."

"It's an expression." Obviously, he wasn't familiar with it. "It refers to a glorious knight coming to the rescue of a woman in need. The knight is supposed to be perfect, so he rides a pristine white horse."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "You think that I am glorious?"

I let my face show my lack of amusement. "You're missing the point, Mr. Wickham."

"You think I'm perfect?" His eyebrows were raised seductively.

I glared, hating him for twisting my words like that. How quickly my emotions flitted around when I was near him.

"Why can't you just take a compliment and say, 'Thanks,' like a normal person?" I asked, flustered for letting myself get carried away. He had no right to take advantage of that.

"Because I am the knight for your every need."

Git. I couldn't believe him. I couldn't believe that he would be so awful about it.

"You know what, George Wickham?" I asked, my anger and disappointment twisting my insides in agitation. "You're pathetic." I stepped up to him, jabbing my finger into his chest. He cast his eyes down to look at me, regarding me with little more than mild interest. Well, he wouldn't be for much longer.

"You're scared to let people get to know you, so you cover yourself up with sarcasm and degrade anyone that gets close to you to keep yourself from getting hurt. You're afraid of feeling things, of experiencing emotions." Something changed on his face. I assumed I was successfully making my point. "I honestly don't care how you got to be a captain in the militia. It means nothing, because you're a coward."

I stepped away from him, but couldn't see his face, as it was darkened in the shadows of the night. "Thank you for elucidating your opinion of me so precisely," he finally said, his tone deadpan. "The lack of ambiguity is much appreciated."

"As was your assistance this evening," I replied, not willing to admit that I had hurt him, to contradict myself so quickly. "Thank you."

He bowed once. "You are most welcome."

I didn't know what else to say after that, the conversation having gone colder than the stone terrace we stood on. We walked in uncomfortable silence back inside, where I didn't have to worry about speaking.

"Captain Wickham." The both of us turned to where a man in the red jacket, white trousers, and black boots of a member of his majesty's militia stood with his hat in the crook of his arm. He must have just arrived.

"Major Travers," Wickham said, bowing.

The man nodded his head, then continued. "You must excuse my intrusion, Lady Catherine. I offer my sincerest apologies, but Captain Wickham's presence is needed in the encampment." To Wickham, he added, "We are moving out. I'm sorry to hasten your leave."

Lady Catherine nodded, lying through her teeth as she said, "His absence will be felt heavily."

Wickham, standing at my side, said goodbye to me first. "Miss Price," he said simply, his tone still displaying no emotion. But in one last final act, he took my hand and placed a gentle kiss on it, not looking at my face.

I stood there, unable to move as he bid goodnight to the remaining people.

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**anybody see that coming? i didn't see that coming. this actually changed a lot. i had a bit of an epiphany and changed things up a bit.**

**anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated! and check out my OC list on my profile if you want to see whom i imagine to play Sara!**


	9. Regrets

**this chapter is especially dedicated all those who have reviewed, favorited, followed, etc. (A special shoutout to Grey Vipointe - i haven't gotten a review in a while, and yours totally made my day!) U****nless you're an author who anxiously awaits feedback, you have no idea how much those emails in my inbox mean. thanks for letting me know i at least made someone happy, and thanks for sticking with Sara thus far :)**

**Disclaimer: Lost in Austen is not mine. And neither is Pride and Prejudice. (I just thought I'd mention that too) I only own Sara.**

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Chapter 9: Regrets

In the carriage, I could tell that Darcy was beyond relieved by Wickham's departure, though he didn't say anything about it to Amanda, nobly respecting her friendly relationship with the man he despised.

I, on the other hand, deeply felt his absence. It left a void in my chest, one that I acknowledged and attributed to guilt. I had called him a coward, a rude, undignified, scornful coward, because he was afraid to feel. I knew it to be true, and I'm sure he did too, but just like he had no right to twist my words earlier, I should have kept my opinion to myself. In a way, he ended up proving me wrong; his monotone had told me that there were feelings under there, feelings that had been hurt.

I cradled my hand in the other, staring down at it. A tingling feeling still remained, even an hour after he'd kissed it. His lips had been so soft, so light, barely even brushing my skin at all.

I wanted to see him again; to apologize; to tell him that I was exactly the same because I didn't want to admit the feelings that were brewing for him; to tell him that I did sometimes think he was glorious and perfect; to feel his lips again-

I shook my self and breathed. Soon, this would all be over. Those feelings didn't matter. They didn't mean anything. George Wickham and I were not compatible. Aside from the fact that he infuriated me, he was a scoundrel, and I would be back in my London before long. All of this would be a distant memory.

I leaned back and my head thudded against the wood. I couldn't keep it all straight, and everything I felt was heightened. My feelings were not ricocheting across the whole span of emotions; I was experiencing them all simultaneously in one big tidal wave: Anger and frustration flitted around in my stomach, vying for my attention. Occasionally, they won it, but most of my time was spent trying to control the shame that turned the fluttering into an unruly itch.

Even worse was that there was nothing I could do about it. No amount of movement or stillness or time lessened the irritation, and the more I tried to rid myself of it, the more I focused on it, and the more obnoxious it became. I thought it couldn't be more ironic that after surviving a six hour journey with Wickham, and then another hour ride to Lady Catherine's, this last twenty minutes without him was about to drive me crazy.

I moaned audibly. I was so screwed.

"Sara?" Amanda asked. "Are you all right?"

My head snapped up; I'd almost forgotten that my sister and brother-in-law were also in the carriage, sitting directly across from me. "I...I'm not sure."

"Perhaps something you ate does not agree with you?" Darcy suggested.

"Yeah," I said, "maybe."

"You should just go to bed when we get back," Amanda advised. "It's probably been a long day for you."

Again, I agreed without argument, nodding. Bed. Bed meant sleep, and sleep meant waking up tomorrow morning to find that this was all a dream.

Deep down - somewhere next to the itch - I was fully aware that this was not a fantasy or some insane hallucination after having smacked myself in the head. I knew what visions looked like in sleep - blurred around the edges, unexplainable as they jumped from one location to another, unbelievably fast.

If it were a dream, I wouldn't be spending so much time everywhere, and those six hours with Wickham would have flown by. If it were a dream, I wouldn't be able to see Wickham's face and emotions so clearly, as it was impossible in dreams to conjure images of people you've never seen before. If it were a dream, I wouldn't feel like this.

Still, as I blankly accepted Darcy's help down from the carriage and listlessly trudged into the estate behind Amanda, I knew it was my only hope at this point.

She left me in a room a little smaller than hers, but even so it was beyond necessity. I most certainly did not need the parlor area that was immediately to the left when I entered. There was a round, dark, wooden table, three wooden chairs of the same color with red cushions, and a little distance away a green couch that was probably six feet long and wide enough for me to be more than comfortable sleeping on it.

It was one giant room that had a king sized bed on yet another red Persian rug. The head board was pushed against the far wall, the foot jutting into the middle of the room, though I would have more than enough space to maneuver around it to the bathroom on the right. An ornately carved wardrobe, similar to Amanda's, was against the left wall, near the end of the bed.

I hadn't even realized that Amanda had left me until she reentered with a white nightgown. She put her hand on my shoulder. "Sara?" This jolted me from my trance, and I turned, my glazed eyes focusing on her face. She saw my dumbfounded look. "What is the matter with you?"

I shook my head, not entirely sure what my problem was but knowing that I didn't really want to discuss my suspicions.

That was too bad.

She shoved the dress into my hands. "I know it isn't your cami and shorts, but it's all I've got, so just deal." She spun me around and forcefully steered me towards the bathroom. "Get changed, wash up, and then tell me what happened at dinner."

I followed the commands I was given without dispute, and finally managed to regain current thought and pull myself out of the jumbled mess in my head when I splashed my face with water. The action felt so good, so cleansing, that I repeated it again and again until my elbows became wet as the splattered water spread across the counter.

I returned to the room to find Amanda waiting patiently on the bed. I climbed onto it next to her and she looked at me expectantly. "Well, spill. What the bloody hell happened? You look like someone smacked you with a brick." I opened and closed my mouth a few times and gestured around helplessly, unsure where to start, because, honestly, the whole night had been one big sequence of heinousness. "Why don't you start with how you got here? Fill me in."

I was exhausted, but this I could do. So I explained from the beginning: Arriving at her apartment, meeting Elizabeth and entering this unbelievably unstable world; fleeing from the Bennet household, meeting Wickham, and being taken in by my lovely adopted sisters and the not-very-hospitable Mrs. Bennet.

"She doesn't like me much," Amanda admitted. "She thinks I'm to blame for Elizabeth's decision to leave and that I stole Darcy, who was a possible suitor for Lydia, Kitty, and Mary." She rolled her eyes at the prospect.

"They want a ball, by the way," I added.

She sighed. "They always want a ball."

I continued with my tale, moving on to the tumultuous six-hour carriage ride with Wickham. Amanda's expression became much more interested as I became less objective and more biased in my recount, out of my funk now. "He's ridiculous, galloping about with that sly grin and wiggling those provocative eyebrows. He thinks he's so irresistible."

"Which he isn't," Amanda stated.

"Of course he's not!" I cried ardently. "He's irritating and infuriating and exasperating, especially when..." I trailed off and gulped, getting ahead of myself and slowing down as that itch wormed its way back into my stomach.

Amanda leaned in. "When what?"

My voice considerably lower, I finished, "When he can't decide if he wants to be sarcastic or honest." There had been moments when I thought I'd gotten through to him, past his brick wall of mockery, only to find that there was an even thicker layer beneath.

My silence prompted a new conversation topic. "And then you arrived here?" I nodded. "All right, then what happened at dinner? The Collins brothers are not the best company, trust me, I know."

I groaned, remembering, moving away from Wickham for now. "Oh, they were awful! And Lady Catherine was really trying to set me up with them?" Amanda nodded. "Cymbal, or Tinkler, or whatever he wants to be called, has absolutely no table manners whatsoever. And Mr. Collins is just..." I shuddered.

Amanda shared my repulsion. She held up a hand. "Don't go there. I know all about it. Spare us both."

"Gladly," I said. "Probity was by far my favorite."

"He slept the whole time."

"Exactly," I said. "And Elysium with that pipe. I felt like I was suffocating."

"But, uh, Wickham got you out, didn't he?" She spoke delicately, choosing her words carefully.

I regained my lost frustration anyway, along with the another emotion that had started up back in the carriage: Guilt. "Yeah, doing his whole white knight thing."

"White knight thing?" Amanda repeated.

I nodded, but without my previous fervor. "The hero complex thing! Always coming just when I need him."

"And you don't like that?" She continued to tread around me warily.

"It's helpful," I admitted, knowing that it was an understatement. Without Wickham, I'd still probably be under that oak tree on the hill by Longbourne. "But he's just so awful about it. I mentioned it to him and explained what the term meant, and he instantly mocked me for it."

Amanda tilted her head in interest. "Did you call him out on it?" she joked, hoping to get what happened next out of me.

So it told her. "I did."

"What?"

I made myself smaller, hugging my knees to my chest. "I yelled at him. I called him a coward, told him he's afraid of getting sentimental and having feelings, so he cracks jokes and derides anyone that gets close to him."

"Sara..." She didn't know what to say, having not expected that as my answer.

"I know it was a cruel thing to say and that I actually wound up hurting him, and I feel awful about it," I said honestly. She met my eyes, not judging. "I wish I could take it back, because I was wrong to say those things...But that doesn't mean I wasn't right. Everything with Georgiana and Darcy, his rogue charm..."

She bit the inside of her cheek; she didn't agree. Rising from her seat and heading for the doorway - probably to avoid an argument on the matter - she said, "I can see how you would think that, but there's more to George Wickham than you think. I hope one day you can know him like I do."

I thought of Wickham, trying to look past his attitude and focus on his actions, remembering every time he'd chosen to help me and every time he filled in for my lack of knowledge, sparing me the embarrassment of spluttering - because, let's face it, I did. He had moments of kindness and honesty and true decency. I just didn't see them enough to be convinced that was the real Wickham. "I do, too."

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**As always, read and review**


	10. Guest List

**Because I have been so inspired, I have ANOTHER CHAPTER for you lovely followers. enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Lost in Austen and am gaining no profit from the creation of this story. I only own this lose-lose situation, and Sara.**

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Chapter 10: Guest List

I would be more than happy to never need to ride in a carriage again; I was really getting sick of these things. The ride from London to Pemberley was almost as long as the one with Wickham the day prior.

We arrived at the Darcy's estate just after noon, which told me that I had only been here for about thirty hours, at least ten of which had been spent sitting in a carriage. I'd probably gone further in the last day by horse than I had in the last month by bus, and I had an uncomfortably numb bottom to show for it.

Despite my aching bum and my uncontrollable need to move on my own two feet, Pemberley took my breath away. Mr. Darcy's primary home looked much like the manor in London - tan stone, iron grating on the rooftop, an impressive entrance, enormous windows, perfect symmetry - except bigger. Much bigger, and more majestic than I had imagined. It was set just before the hills and woods, a perfect location for hunting, and the building and surrounding trees cast their reflections on the rectangular lake.

"Well, I don't see why not," Amanda said to Darcy as we walked into the estate, words and footsteps echoing on the marble floor. They were continuing their conversation from inside the carriage, when Amanda mentioned the Bennet sisters' desire for a ball.

"But there is no occasion," Darcy argued, obviously not in the mood to host a party any time soon.

Amanda put her hand on his arm. "Since when do we need an occasion to have a ball?"

"We've just returned."

"Exactly! What better reason?"

He sighed. "I meant, may we not have a day to ourselves?"

"Of course we can!" Amanda reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. "We'll have today. I'll schedule the ball for tomorrow evening." She hurried off to do something with a guest list and invitations.

Darcy turned to me, hopelessly, but nonetheless with a soft smile on his lips. "Hey," I told him, putting my hands up, staying out of it. "I got stuck with her through birth. You were the one who picked her of your own free will."

"This I cannot argue." He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Perhaps you would like to assist her in creating the guest list?" he suggested. "Then afterwards, we may arrange to show you Pemberley." As I had nothing better to do, I followed him to wherever Amanda had gone. "It would be an honor to escort you myself, but as things are, I have a party to host." He stopped near a doorway, and inside, I heard Amanda's voice. "Of course, I find it all unbearably boring, so if you wish to spare yourself the arranging, I would not think on it twice if you should rather explore the halls yourself."

I smiled; I really liked my brother-in-law. "Thank you, but I'm happy to help her. I'd probably lose my way if I toured it myself, and I'd hate to intrude on a private room."

"Nonsense. There is not a space in this building that is forbidden from your entrance. You may do as you wish." He bowed then. "Please excuse me, however. There are rather unfortunate preparations to be made."

I entered the sitting room, where Amanda was seated at a round table, paper spread out around her, a pen in her hand. Maids darted about, holding up different kinds of materials, from invitations and envelopes to table cloths and linens, awaiting Amanda's inspection.

"The peach, definitely," she said after a quick glance. "It's so soothing, so natural, and it goes with just about everything. And the white cards, but not with that silver lettering. I can barely see that. Use gold instead." Those two women hurried off to do their bidding while I took the seat across from her.

"Aren't you efficient?"

She scribbled furiously. "I was never much for planning parties, but there's something about it that gives me such a rush."

"Ah, yes," I said in a tone of agreement. "The extreme sport of party planning. Fits somewhere between sky diving and bungee jumping, right?"

"Be quiet," she said, crossing something out. "You're making me mess up."

A maid returned to the room just then. "Milady?" she inquired softly.

Amanda looked up, putting her pen down. "Margaret, what did I tell you about that?"

Margaret curtsied. "My apologies." Amanda nodded for her to repeat whatever she had done wrong. "Mrs. Darcy?"

I almost laughed out loud; she was chiding them on being too formal. "Yes, Margaret," she answered.

Past the hardest part, Margaret seemed to relax. "I have reports that the militia will be present in the area during the ball."

"Thank you, Margaret." She looked to me, eyes bright. "I think we may need to adjust the guest list."

Margaret curtsied again and exited the room, leaving me alone with Amanda. If I'd been anymore desperate, I would have flung myself across the table. "Amanda, don't you dare address an invitation to him."

"Sara, I won't do that," she promised, looking me in the eye. This pacified me, until she added, "You don't send invitations to specific members of the militia; it's not proper. You send one to inform the whole regiment and then see who shows up."

"I'm begging you, please-"

"Would you really deprive all those men of an evening of enjoyment due to the slight chance that one comes along?"

"Yes!" I stated adamantly. Then I lost some of my determination; she was poking fun at me, I could tell, but her words were honest. It wasn't fair. I sighed loudly. "No."

She softened her tone. "We don't even know if his regiment is one of those in the area. And besides, I thought you wanted to apologize."

I blinked. "I never said that."

"You implied it."

"I...I don't know what I want to do." He wasn't even here and he was confusing me.

Amanda put her pen down again. "All right. How about we go for a walk?"

I nodded and let her snake her arm around mine as she led me out of the room and down the hallway, though I would have been willing to put it on record then that walking wouldn't help my decision making skills.

She showed me the massive sitting rooms and drawing rooms, the dining rooms and kitchens, the grand halls and the reception halls.

"This is where we'll hold the ball tomorrow." As she spoke, Darcy was directing the placement of tables against the walls. "Those are for the food, and to clear room on the dance floor." In the far end of the hall, beneath an enormous landscape painting, butlers were setting up an elevated platform I assumed was for the orchestra.

As we left, I caught sight of the back of Pemberley, and my jaw dropped. "Want to see the garden?" she asked, seeing my face. I nodded.

We exited the house through a pair of tall, glass double doors, then descended the two flights of stairs to the ground. Our feet crunched on the pebble walkways that weaved in between and around little ponds with statues and gardened areas with blooming plants. It was April; deep and light purple lilacs accented the greenery.

I looked out beyond the gardens, which were elevated. To the left, there was the beginning of the forested area. On the right, there was another lake, this one smaller than the one in the front, with a stone bridge on the side close to the building.

"Darcy did the Collin Firth scene for me there."

I remained silent, absorbing what she said, which made no sense. "He what?"

She pointed to the lake. "He took of his coat, and took a dunk in the water."

"That must have been pleasant."

"I felt like I couldn't breath," she admitted. "I couldn't believe he actually did it. I still can't believe."

I laughed aloud. "Maybe I can put in a suggestion for a birthday or anniversary gift," I said. "Nudge him in the right direction with a few hints."

"I would appreciate that," she said thoughtfully.

We returned inside and I continued to avoid talking about Wickham by distracting her with Darcy. "He emerges from the pond, his white undershirt clinging to his soaking wet body," I narrated while we climbed up the enormous segmented flight of marble stairs so I could chose a bedroom. She giggled behind her hand as I illustrated the scene. "The light of the sun gives him a golden halo, creating a godly idol..."

"That's exactly how it was!" she said as we reached the landing and turned left. We walked on, then followed the corridor as it turned right.

This entire hallway was strictly devoted to bedrooms. "That one in the middle is mine and Darcy's. Take your pick out of the rest." I only had ten to choose from - well, nine, actually.

"Is this one taken?" I asked to the only door that was not open.

She nodded. "It's Georgiana's room."

Eventually, I just chose the one at the end of the hallway, a spitting image of the one in London, though this one was painted blue. I steered clear of Georgiana's room, well aware that talking about her meant talking about Wickham. My avoidance didn't work too well, in part because of the proximity to her room nearby and also because we had reached the end of our tour.

"Ready to go back and make a final decision on those invitations?" Her tone told me to just suck it up and make up my mind.

"Ha," I said softly and without humor. I plunked down on the light blue cushions of the couch in my room. "No."

"Do you want to apologize?" she asked, fishing for something.

"Of course I do."

She threw up her hands. "Well, there you go!"

"But I don't know if I want to see him yet!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Sara! What's the difference between apologizing tomorrow night and apologizing next week?"

I stood up and paced, ironically using Wickham's own word. "Spunk?"

"Build some up by tomorrow evening," she ordered. "It'll be like ripping off a band-aid."

She was right, even though I had always hated doing that. But as soon as I opened my mouth to tell her to send the invitations to the regiments, I choked, my voice catching. I stood there, soundless. "Where are washcloths?" I asked instead, remembering how good it had felt last night to splash my face with some water.

Amanda shook her head, knowing I was dodging the confrontation, but nonetheless pointed me in the right direction. "There's a linen closet in the bathroom." She crossed her legs and arms in her seat on the couch, staring me down.

The ornately tiled bathroom was just as gorgeous as any other part of the house, and was about the size of my bedroom in my loft. I stared at my reflection in the ivory wash basin filled with water and blew air through my lips. I was a wimp; I was the coward. I couldn't even bring myself to think about facing the man I had thrown heated insults at, even though I wanted more than anything to say sorry.

I walked over to the closet, turning the knob and pulling it open.

Instantly, I slammed it shut. What I saw were not linens. My heart rate involuntarily sped up, my breathing grew faster. "Amanda!"

She was at my side a second later, having come running to my desperate call, even though she was annoyed. "What?"

"Send the militia the invitations," I said before I lost my nerve.

"Really?" she said, surprised.

I pulled open the door again, and showed her. Instead of linens and towels and washcloths, I saw what the view of my apartment building looked like from the abandoned warehouse across the street.

"Oh." Having made my point, I shut the door. "Well, I guess we have an occasion for the party now."

"What?" I asked.

"It's your sending off."

"In that case, can you ask the Bennets in their invitation to bring my clothing?"

I stared at the white wood, remembering my other life, my real life, with my real job that I only had two more days off from. If I was going to apologize to Wickham, tomorrow night was my last chance.

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**Okay, so I really don't know much of anything about planning a ball, so i'm kind of just winging it. **

**Anyway, reviews are always welcome!**


	11. A Different Side

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lost in Austen. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, but unfortunately, I don't even own your entertainment. If you are not entertained, though, it is not my fault.**

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Chapter 11: A Different Side

Waiters carrying trays of champagne circled the perimeter of the dance floor, but I once more declined the offer, already too jumpy for a drink. The party had barely begun, but the guests had started arriving early.

"They always do that," Amanda said. "I said it starts at half-past seven, so I figured they'd be here promptly at seven." Amanda had been here two weeks, and already she had mastered the most important skills of society, and was in the process of learning all the others.

She was a remarkable hostess, greeting everyone who came through the doors by title and name, asking how things had been since certain problems had been resolved, inquiring after the health of relatives. Darcy, the host, was nodding along and smiling, but Amanda was doing most of the talking.

I stood on Amanda's other side, prepared to greet guests, but they didn't know who I was, and the rush of people crowding through the doors didn't give Amanda time for introductions. Guests continued on their way into the hall, taking champagne glasses and cups of punch or grabbing a partner and joining the throng on the dance floor.

Now I think I understood the Bennet sisters' desire for a ball, and Darcy's desire for no ball. These people would do anything for a party, but they spent less than a minute conversing with the host, with whom they barely made eye contact because they were trying to see if they knew anyone in their direct lines of sight.

I knew that on the invitations, Amanda had written that the purpose of the ball was a sending off for me, but no one asked who this Miss Sara Price was. They didn't care; they were getting a night to drink and dance. I was actually relieved by the fact that I wouldn't have to suffer through small talk with people I didn't know, people who really had no interest in me.

Still, I couldn't help feeling excited when one guest finally addressed me.

"Charles!" Amanda cried to a goofy looking but handsome man with a wide grin. "Caroline is not with you?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the slightest clue as to her whereabouts," he said honestly. It didn't take me long to comprehend that this was Charles Bingley.

"But you didn't come with Jane either?"

"Alas, no," he replied, shaking hands with Darcy, who cracked a real smile at the arrival of his best friend. "She has remained with her father since the...ah...incident." The three shared furtive glances as other guests nodded to Amanda and Darcy but continued into the hall. I made a mental note to ask Amanda about this "incident."

He then turned to me, that huge grin back on his face. "And you must be Miss Sara Price." I nodded, and he kissed my hand. "It is most unfortunate that the first time we meet is at your sending."

"There was nothing to be done about that," I said kindly, immediately liking Mr. Bingley.

"Sadly, no," he agreed. "But I still wish to make it up to you. Might I claim a dance sometime this evening?"

"Mr. Bingley, I would be most honored." I tried to sound as honest as I really was, to make sure he knew I wasn't avoiding a dance with him. "But I'm afraid I'm a terrible dancer."

He bowed. "Then you shall stand on my feet."

I laughed. "In that case, I look forward to it."

"Splendid," he said before Amanda pushed him to go ahead and he drifted into the dance hall.

"He's going to marry Jane?" I asked, leaning over to whisper into Amanda's ear. She nodded. "Good. At least I know that issue sorted itself out."

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You have no idea. I'll finish telling you about that one later." Last night, after dinner with Darcy and Georgiana - who was frighteningly intense, in my opinion - Amanda had begun part one of her adventures and mishaps. Where she left off, Bingley was a drunk and Jane was married to Mr. Collins, and that was a horrid place to leave off.

"While you're at it," I said before I forgot, "what was the incident Bingley just mentioned?" She stiffened. Quickly, I added, "I don't mean to pry-"

"No, no," she said, "that's all right. It just has a very long backstory we haven't really gotten to yet."

I nodded my understanding. "Then you'll definitely be telling me later."

She bit her lip, considering something. "There is something you need to know right now, though."

"About what happened?"

"Yes." Momentarily leaving Darcy to greet the guests, she looked me in the eyes to let me know she couldn't be more serious. "Wickham is the reason Mr. Bennet is alive right now."

I blinked at her. "What?" I finally asked, completely bewildered. But she didn't answer, as one of the men on topic strolled through the doors.

"Mr. Bennet!" Amanda greeted. "Where are the lovely women in your life?"

He took her hands. "My dear, I have been asking that same question for years. But, if by that you refer to my daughters, they would be with their mother, who would be gossiping God knows what about God knows who."

As he was greeting me, I noticed the bag in his hand. "I was led to believe these are yours?"

He held it out to me. Inside were my jeans, green tank top, and jacket. "Yes! Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. I dearly enjoy laundry detail." His eyes twinkled, and I knew he was only teasing.

I was going to make a comment back when the Bennet women entered through the doors, and he was practically pushed aside. Cries of "Miss Price!" and "Mrs. Darcy!" filled the foyer and Amanda and I were enveloped in hugs.

"I can't believe Mr. Darcy agreed to host the ball!" Lydia said excitedly as she embraced me. "Thank you so much for convincing him! Though it is not fair that you must leave."

"Indeed," Kitty said, hugging me next. "Must you?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I replied, taking their hands in mine. That sisterly feeling came back to me, and even all their embracing couldn't annoy me. Promising to join them later, I ushered them through to the hall and politely greeted Mrs. Bennet, who gave me the same courtesy in return.

Jane remained behind. She gave both me and Amanda warm hugs. "Such unfavorable timing," she said to me, "that we should only just meet before you depart."

"No matter how brief it was, I will always consider you a sister." With a loving smile, she hugged me tightly again. After a moment, I whispered in her ear, "Now go dance. Mr. Bingley arrived only a few minutes ago."

Her smile shy now, but her cheeks blushing with happiness, she followed my advice.

"I'm going to put this in my room," I said quietly to Amanda, holding up the bag of my clothing. "I'll be right back."

I slipped away, hurrying through the hallways, up the stairs, and down the last two corridors. I deposited the bag on my bed, thinking of Mr. Bennet. He wouldn't be alive without Wickham. Could that be true? I wanted to doubt it, to not have another reason to feel guilty for my harsh words, but Amanda had been so candid.

I shook myself, knowing I would get an answer later tonight. Besides, I'd already decided to apologize to Wickham; discovering that he had further morals made no difference there. But it did make a difference in every other way.

"The militia just started to arrive," Amanda muttered quickly when I returned, nodding to the hall, where I saw red jackets interspersed between other guests. "I haven't seen him yet, though."

It was dark outside now, but from the few torches, I could make out a crowd of red coats making its way forward. Two or three at a time, they greeted us and continued on. A few appraised me and my midnight blue dress, and gracefully introduced themselves, wondering if they would be able to claim a dance. My throat dry, I nodded politely, but none of the men present was the one I needed to be here. The line of soldiers soon trickled down to nothing; everyone who was coming was already inside.

Amanda shepherded me out of the foyer and into the party. Darcy led a lovely toast in my honor, after which a bunch of people who didn't know me and didn't really care clapped and cheered. I let my hand be taken for the first quick dance by Mr. Bingley, who assured me that I wasn't horrible with my feet, even though I was looking almost everywhere but my partner, searching the hall.

Bingley then returned to his fiancee, and I was as ladylike as I could be, making small talk with all the handsome men I was spinning around with next. Brown hair, brown eyes, a shy smile; blonde hair, brown eyes, a haughty smirk; copper hair, blue eyes, a wide beam. They each made momentary impressions on me, but nowhere did I see the features that were stuck in my head, the ones I wanted to see: black hair, hazel eyes, and that infuriatingly gorgeous grin.

Eventually, I ran out of suitors, and avoided any more dances by walking around, keeping my eyes moving the whole time, looking for someone I knew wasn't there. I saw Amanda with Darcy, Jane with Bingley, and Georgiana with a blonde soldier; I saw Mrs. Bennet drag Mr. Bennet out for a celebratory dance, as Lydia, Kitty, and even Mary were already on the floor, each laughing and spinning with a suitor.

George Wickham was not there, though I didn't admit it to myself until all the guests had left and Amanda put her arms around my shoulders, hugging me from behind. "Come on," she said. "I have a story to finish."

Twenty minutes later, we were in our nightgowns on my bed, and she was explaining that Wickham had brought a totally wasted Bingley to Pemberley. "Soon after, I met Georgiana, and..." She trailed off, eyes wide.

"And what?"

"She's...intense," she finished, nodding to herself. "Very intense."

I let this odd behavior slide, because I agreed with her. "I think so too."

"Right, anyway..." She continued, telling me how Darcy rescinded his declaration of love on account of her not being a maid, how he found her copy of Pride and Prejudice, and how Caroline Bingley accepted Darcy's next marriage proposal, even though she was not attracted to men.

"Wow," I said for lack of a better word. "Jane Austen probably didn't intend for that to happen."

"Yeah, and she didn't intend for Lydia to run away with Bingley either."

"What?"

Now that I understood the long backstory, I followed along easily: Drunk Bingley and bored Lydia decided to have a social experiment.

"So the Bennets brought me along, to navigate Hammersmith."

I bit my lip. "Which you knew nothing about."

"Exactly. But just when I was about to tell them that we were as screwed as we could possibly get because I wasn't from that Hammersmith, out of nowhere comes George."

"Wickham?" I asked for clarification, though I knew exactly who she meant.

"He came forward with this whole story about riding ahead to make arrangements, saying that our parents, Sir Reginald and Lady Nora, were safely on their way to Bath with Elizabeth."

"Bloody hero complex," I muttered, amazed. I remembered that he'd given that same excuse for my whereabouts during the wedding.

"On top of that, he knew the exact inn where Bingley and Lydia would be, and brought us right to them. There was an unfortunate misunderstanding after that," she admitted. "Mr. Bennet thought something had happened between the two -"

I interrupted, "Which nothing did, right?"

"Of course not! But Mr. Bennet wouldn't listen, so he tried to duel Bingley, but he lost his balance and cracked his head on the fireplace."

I flinched, seeing the head wound in my mind and imagining the situation. "He needed stitches, didn't he?"

Amanda nodded. "The only problem was that the doctor Darcy sent for wouldn't know stitches if they were keeping his mouth shut. But, again," she tossed her hands up slightly, not able to explain the good fortune, "George arranged for someone who did know what to do. He saved Mr. Bennet's life."

She finished with Darcy following her back to present day Hammersmith, bringing Elizabeth back, and setting everything right. Nothing after the news of Wickham's heroics made much of an impression on me, except for when she told me that Darcy had picked up a stuffed version of one of the Teletubbies and called it by name.

I was silent after she concluded what had happened. Finally, I asked, "Why did you wait until now to tell me all those things Wickham did to help you? Why not before?"

She shrugged. "Now, you don't really have that much time, but before I had wanted you to make your own opinion of him."

"I already did," I reminded her. "And I told it to him flat out at Rosings."

"But that's not all you think of him," she coaxed.

What did she want me to say? "Well, I also know what he did to Georgiana." Amanda sighed hopelessly and rose from the bed. When she was in the doorway, I called, "Look, I know that you want me to like him, and now I know all the incredible things he's done, but he balances them out by being a jerk and a liar."

She smiled sadly. "Maybe one day, I hope," she said, leaving me thoroughly confused and positive that I hadn't heard the end of this.

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**review, por favor!**


	12. Chance at Redemption

******Disclaimer: ****I do not own Lost in Austen. Therefore, it is not my fault if you experience any of the following: itching, vertigo, dizziness, loss of balance, slurred speech, and/or profuse sweating. Have a nice day.**

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Chapter 12: Chance at Redemption

Amanda and I meandered through the gardens at Pemberley the following afternoon, our feet crunching on the criss-crossing stone paths. It was meant to be a leisurely stroll, but Amanda was continuously glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I awaited whatever it was she was going to ambush me about, in the meantime trying to admire the deep purple lilacs, low green hedges, and lily pad coated ponds.

"Mr. Wickham was not at the ball," she finally said.

Did we not have part of this conversation last night? Inwardly, I sighed. I knew I hadn't heard the end of this. "I know."

Of course I knew. I had swept through the entire party space three times, scouring for him in vain to apologize for my harsh words. The lack of his presence, other than making for a fairly dull gathering, had only deepened my guilt. He was George Wickham, prince of sarcastic comments and snarky retorts, as I had labelled him, but I couldn't help but wonder if my words were what had kept him away.

"What are you going to do?" she inquired.

I stiffened slightly. "About what?"

"About him not being there."

"He wasn't there. That's that. What am I supposed to do?"

"What do you think-"

I stopped and faced her, my face expressing how unamused I was. "What are you getting at, Amanda?"

"He wasn't there!" she exclaimed, summing up our useless conversation. "Why aren't you bothered? I thought you wanted to apologize and make up with him!"

"Make up?" I exclaimed, my voice cracking as I put my defenses up as high as they could go. I'd yet to share my inner troublesome feelings with my sister. Now there was no way I would; all I needed to do was make it to this evening, when I would be back in my flat. "I'm upset I didn't get to set things right, but I'm not completely bothered because it meant I could enjoy last night's festivities without having to worry about being driven mad by him and his snide remarks." I decided not to mention that I had spent the evening searching for him, because that wasn't the point. "Why are you so bothered? Shouldn't you be grateful that he and Darcy weren't in the same room? Why are you trying to set me up with him?"

She put her hands on my shoulders, suddenly serious. "You misjudge him."

My mouth fell open, and I finally understood why she told me all those things last night. "You are trying to set me up with him!" I accused, pointing my finger at her. "I knew you wanted us to be friends, but-"

"Sara, you don't understand!" I held up my hand, indicating to her that whatever she was about to say was a waste of air. She continued anyway. "He's not the man you think he is."

"You keep telling me that, but I still don't know what you mean." I folded my arms and waited for her to elaborate. Hadn't she started to last night? Why couldn't she just finish?

She looked torn, but eventually said, "I can't tell you." I rolled my eyes, and she added, "But he does have a vulnerable side."

"That's lovely," I declared, tired of this; she was still only giving me one match at a time to get out of the pitch-black expanse that was my apparent lack of knowledge about Wickham. "Maybe one day, I'll even get to see it."

"That's the funny thing about Wickham, though. You'll never know that vulnerable side of him until he lets you, and he never lets you until you know it's there." I hoped she realized the paradox she'd just stated. Either she did, or she saw my face. "You have to get to know him."

"You just said that was impossible," I reminded her

She shrugged slightly. "Make an effort."

I felt like screaming. That was exactly what I was trying not to do. "Why would I make an effort for Wickham? You know better than anyone what he did to Darcy."

Amanda shook her head, as honest as I'd ever seen her. "It's not what you think."

I did not want to hear that. I did not want to be left wondering if every thought I had ever had in order to remind myself that Wickham was not the kind of guy you brought home to show mum could be wrong. No, absolutely not. He may have saved Mr. Bennet, but I wanted to remain with my ignorant knowledge that Wickham was an otherwise awful person with very few redeeming qualities.

Amanda seemed hell-bent on fixing that.

Puffy clouds began to roll in, blocking out the warmth of the sun. For the first time in the garden, we agreed on something, and made our way back inside. We had barely entered the building when she tried again.

"You need to do something."

"All right, fine!" I said, keeping my voice low but obviously dripping with sarcasm. "Let me go galloping about in search of a man I greatly dislike. That's a way to spend my last few hours with my sister."

We turned down a corridor and then were above the entrance hall. She fell silent. Inwardly, I sighed in relief. Maybe now she understood that even if I consented, how was I supposed to find him? If it had been my accusation at Rosings that had kept him away, he obviously didn't want to see me. And if his regiment hadn't been nearby, what chance did I have of finding him?

That was, of course, not the reason for her sudden hush. She tugged on my arm, and I followed her gaze. There, on the landing between the two sets of steps on the grand staircase, was Wickham. He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed and head tilted down. Upon hearing us, he looked up.

My eyes were the first place his gaze landed, and even with fifteen steps between us, my mouth parted and my heart began to race. His stare lingered on my face, but I couldn't discern through his eyes what he was thinking. Finally, he bowed in greeting, breaking my trance.

As I curtsied, I screamed at myself: This man is a git! A good-for-nothing, lying, treacherous scoundrel! Stop going all gooey eyed!

My mental pep-talk seemed to have a little effect, as I was able to keep my mouth closed the next time he looked at me, even though we had descended the stairs and I now stood a very short distance from him.

"My apologies," he said now that formalities were out of the way, "for missing the occasion last night. The militia was coming in this direction yesterday, but my regiment was one of the last to arrive."

"Apology accepted, of course," Amanda said. "Your presence was dearly missed."

"Indeed," I breathed before I could help myself, surprising all three of us. Amanda's eyes gleamed, and she had a silent "I knew it" moment. But I was looking at Wickham, whose smile had grown smaller, and in doing so, somehow became more genuine.

His eyes remained on me as he asked, "Besides the requests of the Bennet family, for what cause was this celebration? It is unlike Mr. Darcy to willingly host such an event without good reason."

I blinked stupidly, unaware that he didn't know; evidently, Amanda was unaware as well. He must have only heard of the invitation, not seen it with his own eyes.

"It was for me," I finally said. "A farewell party."

He looked to Amanda, who nodded to the truth of my statement. His smile faded. "Then I apologize to you as well, for being absent from your moment. I regret not being able to have a sole dance, though I fear that I would not have been satisfied with just one."

"You're forgiven," I said quietly.

"That may be, but I would greatly enjoy your company on a walk by the lake." His eyes bored deeply into mine, begging me to say yes.

His silent plea was useless; I could already feel myself leaning towards him, feel my mouth forming the affirmative response. But the thought of being alone with him terrified me. "It won't affect your plans for dinner, will it?" I asked Amanda, not really sure which response I hoped for more.

Wickham shook his head. "How rude of me -"

"No, it's fine," Amanda cut him off hurriedly. "No problem at all." She might as well have held up a giant neon sign displaying, "GO WITH HIM!" in blinding lights.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Just let me get my shawl," I said. As if that could protect me from his disarming allure and the overwhelming guilt I felt.

Amanda looked like she was ready to just shove me into Wickham's arms, but he nodded. "Of course. It has grown colder."

"I'll only be a moment," I said before climbing the stairs and walking down the hallway to the left. I was about to turn into my room when I heard shuffling coming from down the hall, from Georgiana's room. Curious, I approached, having forgotten about my shawl - though not about Wickham.

But standing in the doorway, I almost did.

Georgiana shoved a piece of clothing into a large, dirty rucksack and then threw it out the window. She turned in her flurry of activity, saw me, and gasped. We stood there, gaping at each other for a brief moment before I regained my senses. "What are you doing?" I cried.

She stood a little straighter, sticking her chin in the air. "I am leaving this wretched prison with the man I love."

"With the what?" I ran over to the window and saw a man with blonde hair and a red militia jacket strapping the rucksack to a large black horse that obviously sensed the excitement of its master; it flicked its tail and nervously moved its feet. I recognized him as the man she'd been dancing with at the ball. "Really, Georgiana?" I was pulled out of my reverence for Wickham, remembering what he'd done now that I had her as a reminder. "This didn't work out so well for you the first time."

She knew exactly what I was talking about. "George never loved me," she stated simply. "I brought heartbreak upon myself by chasing after him when he told me to stay away."

"When..." I mentally repeated what she'd said, but found no more of an explanation for it. I grew upset, though less with her and more with myself. Why was I always so bloody confused when it came to Wickham? "What?"

"Here." She shoved a letter into my hand, stuffing more of her belongings into a second bag. "Please give that to my brother. It explains everything."

The envelope had the name Fitzwilliam elegantly penned on it, but it was not sealed. I tore the letter from it, reading greedily, my eyes darting across the paper. No, this wasn't right. I turned it over, desperately searching for the part that said, "Surprise! Just kidding!"

I didn't find it.

My hand covered my wide open mouth as I finally understood everything my sister had so vaguely explained to me.

"Georgiana," I said, hoping for some sort of verbal confirmation.

"Don't try to stop me," she commanded, and before I'd even realized what she was doing, she'd slipped out the window.

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**Dun-Dun-DUH! There goes Georgiana! Find out what happens next - and review!**


	13. Truth Comes Out

**I had fun with this one! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Lost in Austen. Therefore, the development of purple rashes on the feet, greenish tints to the skin, and/or inexplicable cravings for pickles is/are not my fault.**

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Chapter 13: Truth Comes Out

I tore out of Georgiana's room like I was being chased by a ghost, the letter in my hand. I realized with a sick feeling in my stomach that I had no idea where Darcy was, so I made a beeline back towards the stairs where I had left Wickham and Amanda.

"Sara?" Amanda said as soon as she saw me hurdling down the steps towards them. The floors were surprisingly slippery and I failed to stop, sliding instead. Wickham caught my wrists and pulled me into his chest before I hit the second set of stairs. His eyes frantically searched my face, and in those lovely hazel pools I saw my reflection: red cheeks, windblown hair, wide eyes.

He released me and Amanda took his place. "What's wrong?"

"Georgiana," I breathed. "She escaped out her window, with a soldier."

"She what?" Amanda exclaimed, but when I offered no other words, she said, "Oh, no. No, no, no, this is very bad." Wickham silently agreed, looking like he needed to hit something.

I held up the letter. "Where's Darcy?"

"He was out hunting, but he should be back by now."

An army captain through and through, Wickham issued us orders. "You two go and find Darcy as soon as you can. I'll see if I can head them off."

Amanda took my hand and we hurried down the bottom flight towards the entrance while Wickham took the upper one three steps at a time to reach the back of the manor. I'd forgotten that he had practically grown up in Pemberley, and knew all its hallways.

Amanda and I pushed through the great oak double doors, the both of us searching down the dirt path for Darcy on horseback. We didn't have long to wait, as Amanda had been correct; he was just returning from the stables, and upon seeing us sprint out of the estate, quickened his pace towards us.

"Georgiana just ran out the back with a soldier," Amanda told him worriedly. He looked from me to his wife, waiting for us to tell him it was all a sick, cruel joke, which it wasn't. I held up the letter for him. Without really registering what it was, he grabbed it out of my hand and took off running behind the house. Amanda and I sprinted after him, quickly falling behind his long-legged strides.

I'd never given much thought to what lay beyond Pemberley's courtyard with its lush gardens and fountains, other than the lake. There was an apparently unused dirt trail that weaved through the trees, though where it led, I didn't know.

Far ahead, I could see a horse galloping away, kicking up a wake of dirt and dust. Darcy stood at the start of the trail, where it branched from the main path that wrapped back around the front. He knew there was no point in going after it. Amanda finished her run next to him, wrapping an arm around his stiff body.

I, however, kept going, because barely ten meters up the trail, a figure in dirt stained militia uniform stumbled toward us, one hand on the right side of his waist. "George!" I whispered as I maneuvered myself beside him, doing my best to prop him up, afraid that if I said his name too loudly, he wouldn't open his tightly shut eyes. But he did, and he was able to focus on me.

"What happened?" I asked, shocked at his condition; he groaned and grimaced with every step, even with my support. His breathing was a little labored and occasionally came out like a hiss, and I didn't know if it was from sprinting or whatever injury he suffered.

"Horse kicked me," he mumbled, as if it were nothing. Immediately, my mind flooded with a list of chest traumas that would affect his breathing: internal bleeding, internal damage to organs, a contusion that could lead to a hematoma, broken ribs, Flail Chest. "Only one hoof landed." He looked down at the hand that covered his waist, and I relaxed a little, seeing that his chest had taken no blunt force trauma - but it didn't mean he was fine.

"We have to get you inside," I said, trying to remain calm while my heart raced. So this was why hospitals didn't allow doctors to operate on anyone they had a personal relationship with. I understood the ordinance completely, but only now knew what it was like to feel the terror of the possibility of losing someone important, to unconsciously make the decision to do anything necessary to keep someone alive.

He made me stop next to Darcy and Amanda, ignoring my pleas that he needed to get inside and lie down. Darcy stared at him, his jaw set rigid, his eyes hard. "I'm sorry." Wickham said.

That was when Darcy exploded.

"You're sorry?" he bellowed, his voice resounding through the foliage. There sounded the flutter of a number of wings as birds took to the sky, and I would have loved to join them. "Your pity means absolutely nothing to me, for there is not a doubt in my mind that this was your doing!"

"Darcy!" Amanda cried; even she was shocked by his anger. He ignored her.

Wickham showed little emotion, only saying, almost inaudibly in the aftermath of Darcy, "I had no part in this."

"Don't you dare lie to me!" Darcy shouted. He took a step closer to Wickham, who tried to separate himself from me. I let him go, against my better judgement. They stood an arm's length away from one another, Darcy's countenance stony. Wickham's face was expressionless except for the twinges of pain I saw as he attempted to stand straight up. He seemed incapable of doing so, settling instead on bending slightly, giving Darcy another inch or two on his already existent height advantage.

As Darcy continued, his voice lowered to a threatening tone that was just as petrifying as his shouts. "You are a militia man, he is a militia man. You ravished my sister, and now he is bound to do the same. If there is or ever was a single speck of moral decency in your soul, you will tell me the truth. You owe me that at least."

Wickham shook his head. "I had no part in this," he repeated, "and I would never do such a thing. I am unacquainted with the-"

Obviously, Darcy didn't care. He pulled his arm back and delivered a nasty punch to Wickham's face, adding his own touch to the militia captain's already thoroughly abused body. Wickham staggered backwards but did not fall, though he gasped in pain.

Amanda grabbed onto Darcy's arm and yanked him away from where I was helping Wickham. This time, when I pulled him towards the house, he came with me, blood beginning to pour from his nose.

We didn't speak inside, where I led him to my rooms. It was slow moving, giving me more than enough time to decide that I wanted to hurt him too. What was he doing, just standing there, asking Darcy to hit him?

"Take your jacket off and lie down," I commanded, depositing him on the couch. "Keep your right side out." He did what he was told, but I didn't let his obedience sway my anger. I went into the bathroom, filing a bowl full of water and grabbing two cloths, allowing my inability to see his sorry state fuel my rage.

When I returned to the sitting room, I felt my face soften, but was able to remain furious; somewhere deep down, I still was harrowed by guilt and the need to apologize, but right now, I wanted to yell at him, to tell him off for being so incredibly stupid.

I knelt beside him and cleaned the blood around his nose with one of the wet cloths. "For a militia captain, you don't put up a very good fight." I was less than civil.

He remained nonchalant. "We were talking."

"Oh, yes," I replied, my voice hositle, "it seems that his fist had quite a few things to say to your nose." I guessed my scolding caught his attention, because he turned his head to look at me, his eyes curious. I couldn't look at them and keep my tone. "Lean your head back and hold this to your nose," I ordered, shoving the cloth into his left hand.

Making him put his right arm behind his head so I could have a clear view of his injured side, I pulled up the white shirt he wore under his jacket and saw a bruise already starting to color. I inspected the area around the perimeter of the bruise, checking for any signs of internal bleeding.

"Ow," he mumbled as I poked and prodded.

"You got kicked by a horse, George. Of course it's going to hurt."

"Will I live?"

"Stop talking," I said as I placed my fingers on his neck. After, I continued, "Your pulse is normal, your skin isn't pale or cold, and there's no cyanosis."

"Am I to take this as a good thing?"

I nodded curtly. "It means you probably don't have internal bleeding."

He raised an eyebrow. "Probably?"

"If you had internal bleeding, you'd be dead by now."

"Which would not be the best for my health," he deduced.

Ignoring his attempts to rouse me from my mood, I told him, "No. Internal bleeding is bad. As is being a moron."

There was a pause before he spoke up. I wondered if he was thinking of that night on the terrace at Rosings, like I was. "If I didn't know better, I would think you are cross with me, Miss Price."

"Well, you might want to know better, Mr. Wickham, because I am cross with you!" I blurted out, unable to contain myself. "What were you thinking, running off after that horse? You ride them for a living, you ought to know not to get behind one!"

He attempted to defend himself. "I was trying-"

"Yeah, I know, to stop Georgiana, but that's the other thing: I saw the letter, George! I know you never did anything to her."

He blinked. Well, good, we were getting somewhere. "And?"

"And?" I exclaimed. "Why did you never tell Darcy?"

He looked at me, incredulous. "He would have thrown her out!"

"She seemed pretty determined to do it on her own!" I fired back. "You took the blame and the hatred of your best friend for years! Today he almost gave you a broken nose, and you just let him!"

"I'm a coward, remember? What does this matter to you?" His disbelief was joined by confusion and an underlying harshness.

"It makes you honorable! Between this, and what you did for Mr. Bennet, and everything for me and my sister..." I trailed off, swiping angrily at my cheeks. I turned away from him, then whirled back around.

"You're out there getting yourself killed because you're decent and moral and noble! If you had told Darcy the truth, you wouldn't have chased down and gotten kicked by a horse, and you wouldn't have gone back to Darcy and gotten socked in the nose!" I began to pace, irritation giving me the need to move. "You do understand that you're lucky to be alive, right? Are you masochistic, or something?"

"Why does this have you so vexed?" There was no bitterness in his tone now, only wonder.

The words came tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them: "Because I spent every second of my time here trying so hard to remind myself of all the horrible things you did so I wouldn't fall in love with you, and then it turns out that you never did any of them!"

I slapped my hand over my mouth, my words echoing in my ears.

"What?" he asked quietly, though I could tell he knew exactly what I had just said. His eyes lit up, filling with a combination of curiosity, surprise, and joy. Maybe this is what Amanda had meant about his vulnerable side.

It was too late, though.

"I'm sorry," I whispered before dashing from the room.

Despite his calls of, "Sara!" I forced myself not to look back.

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**So? Whaddya think? There are three chapters left! ****Excited? Lemme know any thoughts!**


	14. Far Too Honorable

**I personally think this chapter is a little dramatic, but, ya know, sometimes a story needs a little drama.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Lost in Austen.**

_******"**Stupid girl/ I should have known/ I should have known/ that I'm not a princess/ this ain't a fairytale…" - Taylor Swift, White Horse_

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Chapter 14: Far Too Honorable

"Sara?" Amanda asked hurriedly when she looked up to see me in the doorway of her room. She stood. "What's wrong?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, but that didn't prevent my voice from sounding thick. "Did Darcy read the letter?"

That was not what she'd expected me to say, but she answered, "Yes."

I nodded once and sniffed a little. "Good. Then he knows."

Amanda approached me slowly, as one might an injured wild animal; I'm sure my wide, red-rimmed eyes had something to do with that. "Sara, are you all right?" She knew perfectly well that I was not, but she was giving me a chance to tell her before she tackled me to the ground and forced the words out of my mouth.

I threw my arms out to the sides. "Never better," I said, my voice cracking.

"Oh, Sara," she cooed, hurrying towards me to pull me into a hug and tell me that everything would be fine. I held up my hand, not ready to hear that just yet.

"Can you just do me a favor?" She nodded. "Just go to my room and tell George-" My voice caught involuntarily and I wanted to hit myself. I cleared my throat and continued, "Tell him not to get up and move around." Amanda eyed me warily, but moved to do my bidding, prompting me to add, "But just tell him that, don't say that I said it." She raised an eyebrow, putting things together, and I realized how childish I sounded.

I slumped onto her bed. Why now, right before I was about to leave, did I find out why I should make an effort for George Wickham? Why not days ago, when I was beating myself up to make an effort to stay away from him?

Amanda returned a minute or two later, but remained in the doorway. "He says that he will get up and go for a walk unless you go and talk to him."

I crossed my arms. "Fine." Him being stupid made me angry, and I wanted to be angry again. It was better than what I was feeling now.

"He said that his walk would end wherever you are." I scowled. "Would you like to tell me what's going on?"

I sighed as she sank next to me on the bed. "I may have accidentally called him a knight in shining armor and told him that I loved him."

"Aha," she said. "That's why he seems so pained."

I knew she was trying to get me to feel bad for his current state. I already did, but I wouldn't let it get worse. "No," I told her stubbornly, "that's because he's so bloody honorable that he let himself get kicked by a horse and punched in the face."

"I meant his eyes." In my mind, I saw those gorgeous hazel pools, the flecks of green and gold shimmering in amidst a light brown background. "I think he lo-"

I interrupted her quickly. "Don't say it. He and I...just, no."

"Why not? I mean, now you know why he's such a good guy!"

I shook my head vigorously. "Amanda, I have to leave. This is your world; Pride and Prejudice is your story, not mine. I don't belong here. I belong back in the twenty-first century. Someone has to keeping Mum from going crazy. Sshe sent me to your apartment to check on you. Imagine if I don't come back? And you hated your job, and mine is the most important thing to me. Or it was." I put my head in my hands. "Why couldn't he have told me earlier, or even better, never let me find out, just let me hate him? I could leave knowing that it would never happen between us anyway. I could leave hating him."

"You know you never hated him."

"Ha," I barked without humor. "I was in love with him from the moment I read his name. I was so annoyed when I learned he was a backstabbing dirtbag. I eventually accepted that, but I always wanted him to be the good guy."

"We really need to get you some different dreams," Amanda said bluntly.

"You mean ones less likely than entering a piece of literature through my sister's shower to find out that a fictional character, whom I originally thought was a git, is not, in fact, a git?"

Amanda nodded once. "Point made."

"That's the worst part," I continued. "I could remind myself that he was a git to keep myself away from him until I went home."

She put her arms around me. "He has a right to know."

"That he's a git?"

"Trust me, he already knows that," she said kindly. "I mean you should tell him why you ran out of the room."

"I'm a coward." I scoffed. "Funny, because I told him he was that very same thing recently." I fell back on the bed. "I just need a minute."

Amanda nodded in understanding, allowing me to work out my feelings. "I think I can get a distraction." I watched her exit the room and turn left, which made me wonder, because my room was in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps and watched with amazement as Amanda led Darcy past this room and down towards mine.

"You're an evil genius," I told her when she came back.

"Yes, I know." She smiled. "I'm having dinner brought here so someone won't have to walk to the dining room. This someone and Darcy will eat in your parlor, and then this someone will move to a different room." Her blatant efforts to avoid saying his name made me grin a little, but I really had no appetite, nor any desire to move from where I was. In fact, I just wanted to curl up in a ball on the bed and have a little pity party for myself while I worked out my jumbled thoughts. Everything was so clear, but I couldn't sort it out.

"Food can only help," Amanda offered when platters arrived some time later. I felt a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach instead of the usual emptiness I felt around six in the evening, but I dutifully picked at the pheasant in front of me anyway, not tasting it, which was okay, because I'd had it back in Hammersmith once and found it was too gamey for my taste.

Amanda had been right; even though I mostly pushed around the food, what I did eat was beginning to make me feel less light headed. I had attributed that to my declaration to George, overlooking the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since noon.

"How about some chocolate?" Amanda suggested sneakily. It was what we always did: eat chocolate in times of dire need, which was usually after some boy trouble. As we'd grown older, the chocolate was joined by a sappy, romantic movie - usually a version of Pride and Prejudice - and a few glasses of wine.

She headed off to the kitchen, determined to get the rich dessert herself, which would be faster than sending for someone to do it for her; if I knew my sister, she probably had her own secret stash somewhere anyway. But I didn't think chocolate would solve this problem.

Her departure, however, gave me a few minutes reprieve from her attempts to keep me talking. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my thoughts.

I knew George Wickham was an egotistical ass. He had a sarcastic comeback for almost any comment, hardly ever let me have the last word, and seemed to have made it his life's mission to infuriate me. He had a cocky grin, eyebrows that were forever raised in amusement when he looked at me, and a pair of playful, mischievous, gorgeous eyes. He was a troublemaker.

But I also knew that George Wickham had never touched Georgiana, though he had taken the blame to protect her from Darcy. He had played a major part in saving Mr. Bennet's life, as well as mine and Amanda's when we were totally lost. Underneath that rough exterior, there was a good, kind, decent, and honorable man, so much so that 'knight in shining armor' wasn't too far off the mark.

And I was in love with him.

And none of it mattered, because I also knew that this was Amanda's dream, not mine. I was meant to be back in the twenty-first century, wearing jeans, t-shirts, and my paramedic jacket, or riding in the back of an ambulance, diagnosing and treating traumas in the field. That was my dream, my world, where I belonged.

And what about Mum? Mum was always just plain nuts, but now I was getting a little worried; she literally went mental because Amanda hadn't called, and she was bound to only spiral downward in the smoke of her cigarettes when I had the pleasure of telling her that Amanda was married - like she'd always wanted - but was not going to call again, nor visit again, and there was no way to reach her.

What didn't offer any help was her sister, my Aunt Brandi, who at one point was going to legally change her name because she preferred tequila, and she didn't bother trying to hide it. She was_ that_ relative at family reunions, hitting the bar way before five o'clock. Unless things had changed in my few days here, she was still in her third or fourth stint in rehab. Since Mum could barely keep her own life together, excusing every impulsive action as "what divorced women do," I knew there was no way she could support her sister alone, and there was no chance of Dad or my insolent brother helping. Even with me there it would be a hassle.

I rolled over and screamed, my shriek muffled by the covers on the bed. When I told my parents that I wanted to be a paramedic instead of an accountant, like Dad, who said I had such promise with all my talent with numbers, they protested. I fought for the future I wanted for myself with everything I had, and eventually my dad softened and said, "You really want this, don't you?" I told him that I had never wanted anything more in my life.

Until now. Nothing in my life experience had I felt as strongly as my desire to stay here, to never again think about my deranged family, to live - go figure - happily ever after with a fictional character whom I had secretly loved since I was sixteen.

This was my chance at the fantasy that I had always dreamed of having since I'd immersed myself in that first fiction book, the one about a handsome, valiant knight and a damsel in distress - who was actually fairly capable of saving herself. I'd reread it countless times, loving how honor was so important to the heroes; doing honorable deeds, defeating dishonorable villains.

I found it ironic, now, that honor was what was screwing me up. It made Wickham the man I'd sappily dreamed of. It made me accept the fact that I couldn't stay here.

Damn honor.

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**Yeah, yeah, melodramatic. Hope you could at least get through it - two more chapters left!**


	15. Vulnerable

******I heard somewhere that chocolate was only supposed to be in liquid form during this time period, but Jane is eating a solid square in the show, so I just went with it.**

**Disclaimer: ****80% of all statistics are wrong, but i can 100% assure you that i own 0% of Lost in Austen.**

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Chapter 15: Vulnerable

When Amanda returned, she had two squares of dark chocolate, the power of which I should never have underestimated. I nibbled on it, the semi-sweet taste soothing me, like good chocolate should.

"Have we sorted things out yet?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm apologizing and saying goodbye." She sighed a little at my answer. "I can't stay here."

"I know," she said. "But what if he went back with you?"

"Amanda," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "we both know that won't work." I'd already given thought to this idea, and rejected it harshly.

"Why not? Elizabeth did it."

"Exactly!" I said forcefully. "Look where she is now: A stay-in nanny with nothing. I won't let him do that. What would he have?"

"He'd have you," she pointed out.

I shook my head, adamant. "And then what? What if things don't work out?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sara, you're being ridiculous. That would never happen, and you know it."

"Humor me." I refused to get my hopes up. "What would be here waiting for him, if he had to come back? You and Darcy want him to live with you forever? The militia will brand him a deserter. I can't let him throw away his entire life." Amanda remained silent, but whether I had made my point or she had just gotten tired of arguing with me, I don't know. "Besides, the door to Hammersmith probably won't open for him to begin with."

"You don't know that." I guessed she'd renewed her ability to dispute my reasons. "If it's his choice, it might."

"His choice? Why would he choose to that?"

"To be with you!" Her exclamation nearly knocked me over. "You know what? I think you're scared of being in love with him."

"Too late for that," I mumbled.

"Then what is it?"

"It's everything else!" I shouted, standing up and throwing my arms out. "I'm scared of getting my hopes up. I'm afraid of thinking that maybe I can get a fairytale romance like you did! I'm scared of thinking that I just might get my stupid knight on his stupid white horse, because it won't happen." She looked like I'd just slapped her in the face, and I lowered my voice. "I don't want to walk down the street and see someone that looks like him, and suddenly feel like there's a gaping hole in my chest." I grabbed her hands, begging her to understand that I was tired of being confused. "He won't follow me. He's known me for three days."

"But you're already in love with him."

"I've known him since I was sixteen," I reminded her. "And if he does follow me, and the door lets him through, he'll take one look at our London and bolt back here. It's better if we skip the drama."

"So, what?" she asked, not done with me yet. "You're going to lie to him? Let him think you're going back to Hammersmith?"

"That's the plan."

"But I told you, he knows Hammersmith! And he knows _you don't live there!_ What do I tell him? Because you know he'll come back to me."

I paused, realizing this would have an effect on her too. "You have my permission to tell him that I'm actually from the twenty-first century."

"That's rich," she scoffed.

I ignored her comment. "By that time I'll be back in Hammersmith and he'll be able to move on." My voice caught, and maybe that was when she saw how much this was hurting me.

"All right, fine. We'll do it your way." She folded her arms and shook her head like she was disappointed in me. "For the record, though, you're being stupid."

"I'm being safe," I told her. I changed the subject before she could argue that. "Has he moved off my couch yet?"

"I don't know," she said, an edge to her voice. "Let me check."

I waited for her to return, steeling my resolve. "He's out of your room," she said when she came back. "He's moved two doors down from here."

I nodded and walked around her, going to my room and closing the door. I picked up the bag of clothes Mr. Bennet had given me from where I had deposited it in the corner. With minor difficulty - there was no way I would be calling to Amanda for help - I managed to strip off my dress. It felt so good to put my regular clothing on; these dresses were so boring, and everyone wore bonnets and stupid little hats with feathers.

I hadn't worn them since arriving, but my jeans weren't stiff. I was able to slide right into them, and my tank top, too, thankfully. Even after three days of sitting in a carriage and eating rich delicacies, at least I hadn't gained that much weight, and the jeans made my bum look normal-sized. I pulled on my riding boots and finally wrapped myself in my much too large jacket, feeling safe and warm.

That didn't last long, though. A parka wouldn't have made me feel comfortable as I slowly walked down the hall, past Amanda's room - where she stared me down through the doorway, arms still crossed - until I reached the one she said Wickham was inside, and slipped into the crack.

He was lying on his back on the left side of the bed, his red jacket on the right. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow, but not labored. He looked so different asleep, not using as much effort to be annoyingly charming. But his eyes snapped open when I closed the door.

"Sara?" he said. He tried to sit up to quickly, and groaned.

I rushed over to him, my decision starting to waver. "Stop, George, please," I said, putting a hand on his chest.

As usual, he didn't do what I wanted him to, rising all the way up and swinging his feet over the edge. He was pale from the strain it took on him, contrasting sharply with the light red blood stains under his nose that had yet to disappear. Color began to return to his face soon after.

He took his hand and covered mine, holding it to his chest. He smiled at me, his eyes shining brightly with the pleasure of seeing me after my hasty departure. But then, they moved from my face to my outfit, and clouded, his brows furrowing.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes." I tried to keep emotion out of my voice. It wasn't working too well. "It's time for me to go."

He nodded, but the corners of his mouth remained turned downwards, and his eyes continued to search mine. I wanted to break down into tears, to move his jacket and lay on the bed next to him, to have him hold me in his arms. But I knew that if that happened, I would never move. I slid my hand out from under his and looked away.

I was too late; he'd already seen the tears threatening to spill over. He grabbed my hand before I could walk away. Then, to my horror, he tried to stand. "Sit down, you idiot!" I cried before I could help myself. Not surprisingly, he continued to disobey me until he was at full height, and apparently fine. "You're going to hurt yourself," I finished meekly.

He chuckled lightly, cupping my face in his hands. I pulled away. "I don't understand you, Sara Price." His eyes and voice were soft. "First you hate me, then you don't. Then you do again."

"I know I owe you an explanation."

"Yes, I believe one of those is in order."

He looked at me expectantly, and words tumbled out of my mouth. "From the moment I met you, I did everything in my power to remind myself that you were nothing more than arrogance and an inflated ego. Honestly, you made it easy for me to deny the feelings I had for you. You were a git."

"And now?"

"Well, you're still a git," I said. "But you're somehow always there when I need you."

"In such a moment as this?" he joked weakly.

I shook my head, realizing he wasn't grasping the importance I was trying to convey. "I've always needed you. You have done everything without me even asking, and you received nothing in return but my anger."

"Not exactly the thanks I had been hoping for," he mumbled.

He continued to jest; he still wasn't understanding. "You made it impossible for me to hate you!" I sighed. "You made me fall in love with you."

"Is that not to your satisfaction?" Though he saw my distress, his eyes lit up with an incandescent joy that made nothing easier for me.

"George, you don't understand. This cannot happen! I don't belong here. But the thought of leaving..."

He took my hands in his and kissed them. "Then stay."

"It's not up to me, George. I have no control over this." I pulled my hands away. "I have to go back." I turned.

He grabbed me, gently, but with determination, spinning me around. His lips crashed down on mine, kissing me fiercely, desperately begging me not to go. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, holding me to his chest, so close I could hear his heart thundering, just like mine was. I tried not to enjoy the feeling of his lips on mine, of his fingers twisting my hair. But it was futile. A tear rolled down my cheek.

He felt it, his face so near to mine. Slowly, his kisses lost their lust, becoming soft and delicate. His lips brushed away the other tears that were now starting to fall before he rested his forehead against mine.

"I hate you," I whispered.

I felt his chest shake as he chuckled. "I love you, too." I buried my face in his shirt. "Sara, please."

"I have to go." I pulled back to look him in the eyes, taking the opportunity to say what I had been planning on actually saying for two days. "I'm sorry for the things I said to you, about you being a coward. I was wrong-"

"No, you were not mistaken," he interrupted. "No one has ever been more accurate. I was afraid. I was a coward, and mockery was my greatest defense."

"In that case, I'm sorry I had to be the one you took the chance on."

He shrugged. "I regret nothing."

"But now you _are_ getting hurt," I argued feebly.

He raised up his shirt, reminding me of the bruises. "I'm already hurt."

"You're really going to want to take it easy while that heals," I said, trying to be mature about something. I failed miserably. "Sorry about yelling at you for that, too." He wrapped his arms around me again, and fighting it took too much effort.

"I'm not a masochist," he said, "if you were unsure."

"Thanks for clearing that up."

He chuckled lightly, and I took that opportunity to let go of his hands and take a step back. Then another, until I was at the door. I opened it and stood in the doorway, my brain screaming for me to keep going forward, my chest pulling me back into the room.

"Will I see you again?" he asked.

I let a sad smile spread across my face, but that was the only betrayal of emotion I would allow. "I hope so."

* * *

**ONE CHAPTER LEFT!**


	16. Perfect

**LAST CHAPTER! With that said, read on!**

**Disclaimer: It took me two months and sixteen chapters, but I finally came to terms with the fact that I will never own Lost in Austen.**

* * *

Chapter 16: Perfect

Darcy and Amanda were in my room when I arrived there a few seconds later, hating myself and my decision and just about everything else - except for George Wickham. I could no longer hate George Wickham, though I suspected that I never really did.

I ignored the hostility she was sending me while I hugged my brother-in-law.

"Let me guess," Amanda said bluntly as we moved to the bathroom. "He loves you and you love him. Am I on the right track?" I didn't answer. "And you're still going back without him. Unbelievable."

"Ignorance is bliss," I muttered.

"Not now, it isn't!" she yelled.

Instead of making me feel guilty, her yells made me angry. Just to spite her, I pulled open the linen closet. There it was: my apartment complex, directly across the dark street. "The door seems to agree with me," I fired back.

She scowled. I knew she was hoping that it wouldn't let me through, that it would only open for me if I brought Wickham back. My choice was supported by whatever strange powers controlled this thing; it still didn't feel right, given the pain in my chest, but I had some sort of ally.

"Amanda," Darcy said lightly. "This choice belongs to your sister."

"I know," she grumbled. She sighed and pulled me into a hug. Over her shoulder, I mouthed my thanks to Darcy, who nodded. "Sorry you have to deal with Mum," she continued. "Come up with something good."

"I'm thinking of telling her you moved to Australia." I turned to the door. "Think she'll believe that?"

She laughed. "Yes, me and the kangaroos."

I turned to smile at her as I stepped through the door, but hers was not the face I saw, and I wasn't smiling.

No, the last name I said was his. The last face I saw was his. And then the door closed.

A chill crept over me, even though I was in my jacket. I was standing on the stoop of the abandoned building, staring at the shabby door and its peeling paint. A light drizzle wet my head, but I hardly noticed. "George," I repeated, stunned. I opened the door, but all I saw was the dusty, dingy space and machines rusted with years of no use.

I tried again and again, opening and closing, opening and closing. Nothing happened. Every time, I saw the inside of the warehouse, a most disappointing sight as I looked for my bathroom at Pemberley. I had a strange feeling of betrayal; this fictional portal was no longer my ally.

I stood there, waiting for the door to open and George to walk through. I couldn't believe I was allowing myself to think it could happen, because it was exactly what I had been trying to avoid: Hoping.

I had no idea how long I stood on the stoop, but by the time the drizzle turned to a solid rain and my jacket was soaked through, there was no hope left in me. I turned and walked across the street, an old streetlamp casting a faint, flickering orange light that just barely lit the way.

I was as pleased as I could be, under the circumstances, to find that my key was still in my pocket. I dazedly wondered what would have happened if I didn't have my key; I would have had to buzz in on the speaker and wait for one of my neighbors to open the door.

I trudged up the stairs to the third floor, and my gaze fell on the fire extinguisher at the top, thinking of Amanda's apartment; maybe it wasn't such a bad place to hide a spare key. Who would lift it up to check underneath? They only reason anyone would pick up that extremely heavy red cylinder was if the building was on fire, and if it was, the key underneath it wouldn't be the biggest concern. I shrugged, deciding to give it more thought when I was capable of thinking better.

I dragged myself to the left, down two doors to 3D, my flat at the end of the hallway. I unlocked the door, and in the warmth and comfort of my own home, registered that I was dripping wet and freezing cold. Shivering, the first thing I did was take a long, hot shower, washing away the cold, but not my thoughts, though they cleared a bit.

What had I been thinking, standing in front of the door? That was exactly what I didn't want, to be thinking about him day and night; to see his face everywhere and do double takes to make sure it wasn't him; to feel my heart jump up into my throat before sinking like lead into my stomach. I was hopeless and pitiful.

I dressed in a baggy t-shirt and sweat pants and turned up the heat. Physically, I felt better, but I had to grudgingly admit to myself that Amanda had been right, as usual: My idea was stupid. In hindsight, I should have known that however sound it may have seemed at the time, my plan would only work if I remained emotionless after arriving back here.

And I didn't. I had waited for him like a love-sick moron when I should have just walked to my building and up the stairs with my head held high.

It was getting late, and I had to be at work by seven tomorrow, as if nothing had ever happened, but there was no way I could get to sleep now. Maybe I could call in for a sick day, or a personal day. I never took either; the hospital practically forced me to use my vacation days because I never missed.

I pushed the idea from my mind; I needed to go to work, to be immersed in the adrenaline and action, to think about anything but the fallout from the last few days. Unfortunately, my current state of mind was the fallout from the last few days.

When I closed my eyes, his was the face that I saw, and that was the sweetest lullaby. But my thoughts flew around, more annoying than mosquitoes, not allowing me to relax. As my track record with good ones was nothing to brag about, the incredibly stupid plan of an all-nighter occurred to me. My brain was on full-power, and that was better at keeping me awake than any amount or combination of sugar, caffeine, or adrenaline.

I replayed those last few seconds in my mind, remembering his confused face - and something else. I grabbed my phone.

"Hey, Mum," I said, leaving a message on the answering machine. "I know I haven't called, so don't freak out on me. Amanda and I just needed some...alone time. She's alive, by the way, and she's really not torn up over Michael. And as for her phone being out of service..." I hesitated, because I really didn't have a good excuse for that one yet. "Don't worry about it, okay? She's fine. I'll talk to you later. Love you."

I clicked the off button and made a mental check list of all the things I needed to cover for Amanda. Then I leaned my head back, letting my thoughts of how stupid I was fill me up. There was nothing I could do about it now, though. Time didn't stop...

* * *

I woke to a flash and a deep rumble. I gently raised my head, wincing; having fallen asleep there on the couch with my head back, my neck was aching. I blinked a few times because I hadn't turned out the lights in the room either. The clock told me it was two in the morning, so I had a few more hours before my life went on.

A bolt of lightning flashed, followed by another roll of thunder, drawing my attention to the window. The streetlamp must have gone out sometime in the last few hours; only the lightning illuminated the pavement now. The rain was coming down harder, pelting the window.

I went back to turn off the light, but stopped halfway through. That last roll of thunder had not been accompanied by lightning. It hadn't been tremendously loud, either. I paused, silent, waiting to hear it again: a knock.

Mum. By now, she could've gotten the message and made it all the way over here. Oh, man, I was going to tell her off for this one. Two in the morning? Really?

I wrenched open the door, thinking of all the things I'd yell at her as I walked down the stairs to open the door to the complex. But when I looked up, it wasn't her, and my words got stuck in my throat.

He was soaked, absolutely dripping wet, his black bangs plastered to his forehead. His hazel eyes were wide, and upon seeing me, he let out an enormous sigh of relief. "Sara. Thank God."

"George," I stated, dumbfounded by his presence.

His breathing was slightly labored, like he'd been running, or had been scared out of his wits. "What is this place?"

"London," I told him, "in the twenty-first century." He was absolutely disoriented, so I lead him up the stairs and into my flat, where I made him sit on the couch. He got it all wet, but I really didn't care.

I sat next to him. He cupped my face in his hands, searching my eyes, and begged, "Assure me this is no dream."

I leaned into his touch, covering one of his hands on my face. "It's not a dream."

"A hallucination?"

I shook my head. "Not a hallucination." He relaxed more, but was still rightfully confused. "Amanda told you what the door was?"

"Yes, but her explanation made no sense to me. I stopped listening when it opened for me."

"Wait, you didn't know where it would take you?" He shook his head. "And you went through anyway?"

He answered simply, "You did." He held my hands. "Did you really think a door would stop me if you were on the other side?"

"So if I'd jumped off a bridge, you'd do that too? You said you weren't masochistic!"

He chuckled at my feigned panic, running his thumb soothingly over my hands. "I would jump off a bridge, or a cliff, or one of these colossal buildings. Don't you understand? I would follow you through any door that presented itself, no matter its destination. I would upend the balance of nature, reverse the world's axis, and follow you to the very ends of the earth if that's where you led." He grinned, knowing he left me speechless. "If you go, my white horse and I will follow."

"Why?" was all I could whisper.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Because with all the trouble you get yourself into, someone needs to be your knight, and I thought I was doing a somewhat decent job." He paused, then added, "And I love you."

"But mostly that first reason?"

"Yes. Mostly that first reason."

I shook my head in amazement. "How are you so perfect?"

Once again, he flashed me his signature look: playful eyes, raised brows, knowing grin. "It appears I was correct after all."

"What?"

He leaned in close. "You do think I'm perfect."

"Stop talking," I commanded. His flashed that devilish grin as I grabbed his collar and pulled him towards me, mumbling, "Stupid white knight."

* * *

**Now that it's over, I have to mention my OC inspiration - Sara would be played by Kristen Bell.**

**Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited (don't think that's a word...), reviewed, and stuck with the story for all 16 chapters. Hope you enjoyed it!**


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